


Even When You're Gone

by quelling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Banishment, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Childbirth, F/M, Illnesses, Kidnapping, Language, M/M, On the Run, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Panic Attacks, Separations, Teen Pregnancy, Werewolf Allison Argent, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:45:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quelling/pseuds/quelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has spent the better part of six months repressing how much Stiles' absence leaves a gaping hole in his Pack, and more so, inside himself.   Derek has made a HUGE mistake.  Can he realize and do something about it before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. {at least he's safe}

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or these characters; I'm only borrowing them because I love them.

Chapter 1  
-Derek-  
at least he's safe

Derek has spent the better part of six months repressing how much Stiles' absence leaves a gaping hole in his Pack, and more so, inside himself. He should be well versed in repression, he's been doing it ever since he lost his family as a teen, but this requires extra concentration. The effort is making him cranky, causing loss of sleep and only the almost hourly mantra that he's doing the right thing by everyone keeps him from seeking out the teen.

Frankly, he's only a little surprised by how much he misses him, and how much the pack misses him. Stiles had been a cohesive bond for them, and though not an integral one, every single member of the pack feels the loss. He can't explain it to them. He can't tell them that his attraction to Stiles had become a painful ache that was burning him up from the inside out. He can't tell them that it brings up too many bad memories, memories in which he was the teen being seduced by someone older. He won't tell them. And he won't tell Stiles, and the guilt eats at him that he feels this way at all. 

Stiles is a child, dammit. Sixteen might be an adult in a werewolf pack, but Stiles is decidedly human. And Derek knows Stiles can do a lot better than a bitter, dysfunctional werewolf with enough baggage to support a crumbling, burnt-out house full of memories; Derek really believes that's the only reason the Hale home is still standing after a scalding, deadly fire and the subsequent six years of utter abandonment. Derek's guilt is a mighty thing and he won't inflict his damaged psyche on Stiles. 

His only surprise is in how easily Stiles accepted his banishment from the Hale pack. He'd expected a fight, a stubborn refusal to accept Derek's decision. It's just further proof that Stiles Stilinski is a lot more intelligent than anyone gives him credit for; a human shouldn't run with wolves. No -- he should run as far and as fast in the opposite direction of danger as his legs, or a blue Jeep, will carry him. 

Anytime the human creeps into the edges of Derek's consciousness, he pushes it away with a stern reminder that this is for the best. Unfortunately, that's not so simple when Stiles is directly in his line of sight. When Derek attends the last lacrosse game of the season, standing on the far side of the field from the bleachers and hidden by the woods, it is Stiles he watches. Scott and Isaac sit side by side, heads often together throughout the game, but Stilinski is on a separate bench, as far from the werewolves as he can physically manage while still playing. He's benched as usual, with shoulders so tense that Derek can see it despite the distance separating them, yet Stiles lifts his chin defiantly as if to prove to the world he doesn't care -- like he doesn't care his former best friend ignores him, or that his father isn't even at the game. 

Derek sighs, something about the sight makes his heart squeeze. The vice tightens even more at the end of the game when Stiles disappears into the crowd and then into the locker room, still a solitary figure despite the crush of people around him. Derek knows his location because he's been watching his every move.

He wants to get closer, just so he can inhale a concentrated dose of Stiles' scent, even knowing it will haunt him for days, but keeping out of sight is the wisest course of action. For both of them. And if he were to actually get close enough to talk what would he even say? _Sorry I decided to push you away to keep you safe. Sorry Scott went along with it so easily. Sorry I've had inappropriate thoughts about your teenage self. Sorry that makes me sound like Kate Argent, but I'd never willingly hurt you._ He snorts. He did hurt Stiles, but there's at least some consolation in knowing that he would have hurt him more in the long run, or worse, gotten him killed. Derek Hale has nothing to say to the human, at least nothing he's willing to say.

Later that same evening, as most of the pack gathers together back at Derek's, he notices several pointed glares from Scott. Glares from Scott are not that uncommon. When the Alpha pack had descended on Beacon Hills, Scott finally chose to be a beta under Derek for the safety of all involved, despite having trouble taking orders. Scott would do as asked, but it was never easy. It still isn't. 

Fortunately for Scott, and with experience born of personal pain, the Alpha recognizes some of those glares aren't even personal, but instead misdirected anger (with a good amount of blame) over Scott's break-up with Allison. Werewolf and human relationships are messy, and Derek thinks this too is probably for the best, that their on again, off again dance has officially ended. With Allison being an Argent, Derek (along with his own biases) thought the entire relationship had far too many difficulties to ever succeed. Apparently Allison had felt the same because she'd ended it once and for all a few months after the Alpha pack had been defeated. It wasn't even Derek's fault, but based on the looks he's garnering from Scott, the teen doesn't agree. 

He is actually surprised the Argents are still in Beacon Hills. Allison had left school, and is currently being homeschooled, no one even sees her much anymore. Well, except for Stiles apparently, and isn't that a strange friendship to blossom? He only knew because the Jeep is so often parked at the Argents' home, and Derek tries not to feel betrayed by that. Stiles was not in his pack any longer and he owes Derek no loyalty. But did he have to transfer that loyalty to the Argents? It rankled. It's bad enough that Derek is even keeping up with where Stiles' Jeep is parked on any given day.

He's torn from his thoughts by the betas rough-housing. Scott is leaning against the wall, scowling and Derek vaguely realizes the younger werewolf has become as broody and sullen as his Alpha. 

He is saved from actually asking Scott what's specifically wrong when Peter arrives with a dozen boxes of large pizzas. Apparently food is enough to draw Scott out of his brooding, which leaves Derek to do his own. He's better at it anyway.

 

***********

 

A few days after the game, the familiar blue Jeep is parked in front of the grocery store, and before he can talk himself out of it, Derek is pulling his Camaro into an empty parking spot a few spaces away. It's like a compulsion, one he's felt many times, and today, it makes him warm and uneasy all at the same time because he's responding to it, giving in to it, by seeking out the teen. Seeing him all alone at that game has bothered him, like a thorn in his finger that just won't be found and removed. Stiles' lone figure looking impossibly thin and yet so strong greets him every time he closes his eyes. 

Stiles is under his skin, and Derek hasn't slept in days.

Moments later he's in the store, sniffing the air and listening for a very specific heartbeat. He finds Stiles leaning a hip against a nearly-full cart down the canned soup aisle. Derek notes that he is choosing heart healthy and low sodium options. It doesn't surprise him that Stiles still does the Stilinski grocery shopping, that he's still trying to feed his father healthy food, much to the Sheriff's dismay. Stiles is a nurturer, at least for those he cares about, and it draws Derek in ways he wishes he could ignore.

He looks him up and down, having not been this close in what feels like an eternity. He sighs at his own thoughts, and apparently that catches Stiles' attention. The teen's head snaps up, and when he recognizes Derek, Stiles visibly recoils. Derek feels a pang in his chest at the expression on his face, but he ignores it, shoves it down -- because he's just deeply inhaled Stiles' scent for the first time from this close a proximity in far too long, and it _scares_ him.

Sure, Stiles' personal scent is still present, but there's an underlying _something_ that he can't place. Is Stiles buying soup for himself? Is it the flu? A bad cold? Stiles smells like sickness. He reeks of it.

"Why do you--?" Derek begins, but Stiles cuts him off with a shake of his head. 

"What do you want, Hale?" Stiles demands, and he doesn't sound sick; he sounds livid. "I've not been around the pack, okay? No more than school requires, and even then there's no contact. So if you're here to give me shit, step off."

Frowning, Derek doesn't know what to say to that unexpected venom. Sure, he and Stiles have never exactly been close friends, and he knew Stiles would be hurt and angry over being asked to stay away, but Derek had thought they were beyond this enmity. Actually, he isn't sure they'd ever shared this level of acrimony, but it's there now. Stiles is wearing it, owning it and throwing it in Derek's face.

Stiles doesn't wait for Derek to find his voice. "Did you come here to threaten me?" As if hearing his own words, Stiles gives a bitter laugh. "Wait, of course that's why you're here. That's what you do, isn't it? Or maybe you'll just cut to the chase? Jump from threatening to outright killing?" Stiles asks, eyes hard. He looks tired, and sounds wary, with the usual undertone of Stiles' sarcasm. And damned if Derek hasn't missed him.

But Derek can't wrap his brain around that last accusation because the kid is serious. He thinks Derek might seriously harm him? "Why would I --?"

Again, Stiles can't stop talking long enough to let him finish. "Look, you've excised me like a bad tumor, so can't you just leave me the fuck alone? I'm down with the program. Following it to the letter."

Derek realizes they're garnering stares, but that isn't want makes him retreat. No, it's that damn look on Stiles' face, as if Derek has grossly, irrevocably betrayed him. It looks painful, like it's killing him. And Derek knows its him that has put it there. Stiles just referenced his mother's cancer; he's _that_ upset, and it cuts Derek to the bone.

He turns on his heel, rushing out of the grocery store like there's a well-armed hunter on his heels instead of a teenage boy with too much loyalty and too few friends to give it to anymore. Derek's nearly reached his car, when he spies Allison several yards away, downwind with plenty of cars to separate them. She's in a huge coat, and he realizes she has a crossbow hidden underneath, probably aimed at him. He's both absolute and partly correct in his assessment. Ahh, here's the well-armed hunter he should run from, but he can't, not until he at least tries to talk to her. She's Stiles' ally, and therefore deserves his respect. 

"Tell me you didn't hurt him. That he's going to walk out of there any minute." Allison doesn't even speak up; she knows he can hear her. She sounds worried, but also resolved. If he'd hurt Stiles, she would avenge him without pause. This is the first time in their sporadic acquaintanceship that Derek realizes she's not like her aunt Kate at all. No, she reminds him of Laura, in all her fierce, protective, brave glory. Allison Argent would make a worthy alpha, but isn't that exactly what she's been groomed for, with the sole purpose of hunting his kind? 

"I just wanted to talk to Stiles," he assures her, holding up his hands to show he means no harm. "He's pissed, but he's safe."

Her eyes only narrow on him, obviously unimpressed by his assurances. "I think you need to follow your own damn rules and leave us alone." She sounds so calm. So resolute. 

"Allison -- I'm not sure that you understand why -- I'm trying to protect --," he admits, and wonders why he's admitting anything to her. She's the current Argent leader. Her father has probably spent hours and hours training her since she left school. But he feels compelled to explain, and to ask for explanation. Maybe it's the sadness around her eyes, or the pull around her mouth as if she's known deep torment. There's a heaviness to her expression. She's pale too, similar to Stiles' wan appearance. 

He winces when the wind changes direction, and carries her scent to him because she has that same sickly smell on her as Stiles does inside the store. Did she and Stiles contract something and no one realized? Some supernatural curse or illness? He's at a complete loss to what it means, but it triggers a clamouring inside him. His wolf is telling him to bring them back into the fold, too loudly to ignore or compartmentalize like he's been doing all this time.

It's then that the cold wind blows again, harder this time, and her scent settles more fully in his nostrils. A niggling feeling, that he hates that Allison Argent's smell is replacing Stiles' scent so completely is so unsettling to him that he's looking for compartments in his brain again, but they're all blown wide open. He can't mourn it. Even if something is off with the both of them, or perhaps especially so, but talking to Stiles, no matter how badly it went, was exhilerating. And then something else clicks into his awareness. Her scent in that moment is overpowering and his eyes narrow even as his pupil's dilate with sudden realization. 

She sees it on his face, and for the first time in their short exchange, she looks truly fearful of him. He takes a step toward her, the need to protect and surround her with pack nearly overwhelming, but she lifts the bow higher, it's shape now clear under the coat, and she's training it right on the target of his heart. The baggy coat doesn't matter. He doesn't have to see anything else underneath it's folds to know she's hiding more than a weapon.

"Is it Stiles'?" Derek finally finds his voice, ignoring how even the possibility that it might be the truth flogs his insides. She shakes her head, even as she gives him a look of pure disgust. Derek tries not to give in to the relief he feels with her denial, the relief in knowing that Stiles is helping, but not the cause. 

"You are a complete and utter idiot," Allison spits at him. "And this conversation is over. I've got plenty to protect, and Stiles is included in that. He's not yours anymore, so stay the fuck away from us." She grinds out the last through clenched teeth.

Derek considers his options. He has no doubt that she'll shoot if he steps closer to her. His very presence upsetting her, ramping up her heart rate and that can't be healthy in her condition.

That's the moment when Stiles comes careening out of the grocery store, empty handed as if it only just hit him that something might be going down in the parking lot. For a human, he's remarkably fast, putting himself bodily between Allison and Derek. The Alpha notices he leaves a clearance though, in case Allison shoots.

"Are you seriously harrassing us?!" Stiles demands. "I won't hesitate to call my father if you don't leave us alone right now. I've dialed 911 and only have to hit send, and I will if I don't see your ass getting in that car immediately."

Derek doesn't know what to say to that. He has no desire to see either of them hurt, at least not more than they have been already, and so he retreats again. For now at least. He slides into his car and leaves the parking lot, his heart pounding almost as loudly as Allison's was at the last of their exchange.

There's a lot going on that he doesn't understand, but he's damn sure about to start putting the pieces together.

Like it or not, Allison and Stiles are going to have to accept that they're both part of his pack. He's made a mistake and he's going to correct it. They're in a lot more danger on their own, and he shouldn't have let this happen at all, this separation. He knows it was his desire to put distance between him and Stiles that colored his decisions, but he can punish himself for it later. He needs Stiles back around, even if he can't so much as touch him, and Allison needs protection. And they both need cures for whatever is ailing them. 

He hits his steering wheel, hard enough to crack the plastic. Even as much as he loves his car, he can't bring himself to care about the Camaro just then because on top of everything that he _doesn't_ understand, there's one thing he certainly does. And fuck it, he's going to have to break the news to Scott that he's going to be a father.

 

************

 

Derek begins his detective work by going to the Stilinski home. He parks a mile away, running the distance between and settling himself on the roof out of sight. It doesn't feel right, to enter Stiles' room any longer, so he'll spy from outside. He hears the Sheriff pull into the driveway, and then his cell phone conversation.

"You're bringing dinner?" he asks, sounding displeased. A pause to listen. Derek can't make out the other party, but he's fairly certain it's Stiles.

"Right, okay. Good, my stomach is growling," the Sheriff adds, a wry expression on his features as he stares at the ground.

And just like that, the conversation is over. No goodbyes. The elder Stilinski just hangs up, goes inside and changes into civilian clothes after a quick shower.

About thirty minutes later, Stiles pulls up in his Jeep. He has a sack of to-go food in hand. To Derek's nose, it smells like Chinese.

"I thought you were buying groceries today," the Sheriff says, as soon as Stiles is in the door. There's frustration in his tone. 

Derek can almost feel Stiles stiffen, even from outside the walls. "I didn't get around to it," he lies to his Dad. There's regret laced in the untruth, and Derek knows it's his fault Stiles didn't complete the task. 

"Stiles, what the hell is going on with you?" the Sheriff asks a little more harshly than Derek would ever have expected. "You ignore your responsiblities all the time."

Derek frowns. Stiles has had far too many responsiblities for a teenager ever since Scott was bitten, probably since his mother died, and this really isn't fair. Granted, the Sheriff has no idea what's been going on in his son's life, but his exasperation is bordering on real anger.

"I've been home more! I'm keeping you fed and the laundry done and my grades up. What more do you want from me?" Stiles exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. Derek can't see it, but he can imagine. Stiles sounds exhausted. This is not what the werewolf expected to witness, and it's breaking his heart.

"I'd like a little honesty. I'd like to know why I asked you to pick up groceries today and you come home with take-out instead. I'd like to know why you never hang out with Scott anymore, and what _happened_ to you, Stiles? What the hell is going on in that head of yours? I quit trusting a word you say last year, and yet you still can't manage to tell me the truth. I never thought I'd have a liar for a son." There it is, the anger that Derek had heard underneath, now brimming over.

Stiles is quiet for so long that Derek almost drops from the roof to look in a window to check on him, but then the teen finally speaks.

"Maybe if you stopped drinking for more than a day, I'd share, but all things considered, I'll keep my own counsel, thanks," Stiles bites out. "I never thought I'd have a drunk for a father."

Derek gasps softly, not that they can hear him, but the magnitude of what Stiles is dealing with makes him dizzy. Fuck. How long has this been going on? Before he realizes what's happening, Stiles has stormed out of the house. He looks just in time to see him slam the door on his Jeep and back out of the driveway.

He's torn between going inside and shaking sense into the Sheriff and following Stiles to make sure he's safe. He follows the latter instinct, and breathes a sigh of relief when Stiles heads for the Argents, pulling into their driveway. At least he's safe. Still, he considers approaching him, the need to comfort almost choking him when Allison and her father come out of the house to lead him in.

Derek goes home instead. He needs information, and the only person alive that can possibly answer his questions, unfortunately, is Peter.


	2. {the altar of his hate}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has to turn to his Uncle Peter for answers so that he can repair the damage he's caused. Peter in turn, must go to Chris Argent, but does he have other motives besides bridging the gap?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to counterintuitivefangirl for looking over this chapter. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or these characters; I'm only borrowing them because I love them.

Chapter 2  
-Peter-  
the altar of his hate

  
Peter is leaning back against a fallen log, so large that it's practically a tree, legs stretched out toward the water. The Hales have always called it a lake, but it's a glorified pond, really. Nothing grand, and yet he has so many fond memories of this place. He was a child here too, growing up with pack and family, becoming an adult, helping to care and teach the new generation. The very last of which is approaching him with some determination, if his nose and ears are correct. He hums softly, like he knew this was imminent.

Derek steps out of the tree line and stops, feet planted shoulder's width apart as if he's a soldier, and Peter can't suppress a grin. "At ease, nephew. You're the Alpha here, not reporting for duty. Besides, I've been expecting you," he drawls. He looks at his watchless wrist. "You're about two or three moons later than I anticipated. I'd about decided the baby would actually be born before you figured it out."

Derek puffs out a harsh breath, and Peter thinks the younger man really needs to get the stick out of his ass. His entire Pack would appreciate it. 

"You knew about the baby? Did you know they were sick too?" Derek bites out, literally, and when Peter glances at him again, he's surprised the boy hasn't wolfed out completely. He's fairly certain he can see the tips of elongated teeth though. Hmm, Derek is clearly emotional over his discovery. Peter wonders if it's the baby or the illness. Or Stiles.

He peers up at his nephew, cocking his head to one side. "Derek, did you pay no attention to the lessons your parents tried to teach you?" Peter sighs in reply. It's a rhetorical question because he remembers all too well that he didn't. "You were always off running wild in the woods. You thought you were always going to be safe and secure in the pack. That one day Laura would be Alpha and you would be a loyal beta and never deal with pack politics beyond enforcing her orders."

Derek can't really argue the point. Peter is exactly right so he simply stares at his Uncle.

"You know, no matter how you want life to turn out when you're young, it never does," Peter huffs at him. " I suppose you've been thinking that just because they're teenagers, their feelings aren't real. That you could decide to push Stiles away, could hinder Scott's pursuit of Allison, and the consequences would be minimal. It's a bitter lesson, but it's true - _life is what happens when you're making other plans_. Well, Derek, life's been happening around you. And instead of coming to me for guidance, you keep forging ahead in your ignorance. "

Derek frowns, his eyebrows furrowing into a single line. He ignores everything Peter has just said to zero in on why he's avoided Peter's advice. "You murdered Laura."

And now it's Peter's turn to frown. He even looks several shades of guilty, like a pallor on his visible skin. No matter what Derek believes, he didn't plan on killing his niece. Granted, he made use of the power he received after committing the heinous act, but it wasn't premeditated. "I wasn't in my right mind and I would take it back if I could. I've made mistakes, but then, so have you. But it shouldn't stop you from tapping into the fount of information that is inside my mind." He taps on his temple.

Derek still glowers at him. "I do _not_ trust you."

"Thank goodness for that or I'd have to question your sanity, but that still doesn't excuse you from seeking my counsel." Peter looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but instead he steadies them on his Derek's own. "Pay attention to the lesson this time," he nods firmly and pauses for emphasis. "When a member is forced to leave their pack, they become an omega. This, I would hope, you know." He doesn't even wait on a biting reply from Derek before continuing. "They become ill. It weakens them, almost as if nature is making it easier to kill them and put them out of their misery. They've lost their pack bonds as if losing a limb, and other wolves can smell it on them. It makes it more difficult for them to join other packs. Maybe it's a warning system because if a pack member has been booted out, there must be a good reason, right?" That last question might be taunting a bit. Derek can't possibly give him a valid excuse for banishing Stiles.

Derek's eyes narrow. "And a packmate that chooses to leave?"

"It's not as intense _if_ it manifests at all, but Stiles didn't choose to leave. You forced the issue," Peter points out inelegantly. "This should actually seems vaguely familiar to you. I know you had this lesson."

Derek's mouth tightens, and Peter realizes he's not going to get a reply.

"This is why he and Allison have formed such a tight bond. They're keeping each other at least somewhat healthy, but I suspect Stiles is using most of his energy in keeping Allison supported, given her condition."

"Allison was never pack," Derek finally speaks.

"She was pack the moment Scott joined it. She's his mate," Peter shakes his head at Derek. "Or are you trying to tell me you didn't know that either?"

Derek shrugs. "I didn't know she was his actual mate."

"Because of their age?" Peter groans aloud, finally getting to his feet. "You're willfully ignorant then. Apparently that extends beyond your own life. Ignoring something doesn't make it go away."

"Does Scott know?" Derek asks.

"If he did, would he have let her go so easily, and not checked on her health these last months? Or are you talking about the baby? He has no idea, on either count. He only knows what you're teaching him, and you don't know shit," Peter informs him.

Derek gives his uncle a warning growl.

Peter responds by rolling his eyes. "Yes, you're the Alpha. I'm not challenging your authority. I'm challenging your lack of education. You were always really good with the instinctual stuff - scenting, marking, tracking -- but politics and communication? You just didn't care."

They both fall silent for a long time, simply staring at each other.

"They need to come back into the pack," Derek articulates clearly, at long last.

"Yes, they do. And you can spend the rest of your life making it up to Stiles," Peter agrees.

Derek's jaw ticks; he's not going to pursue that line of thought or voice the questions that spring to mind, but they both know Derek is going to have to eventually deal with his feelings for Stiles, and all the things he's been suppressing. Peter decides to let it go -- for now.

"I'll arrange a meeting and speak with Chris Argent tonight. There's no way Allison will join the pack without his acquiesce."

Derek's look is one of surprise. "And you think you can manage that?"

"Oh, I can," Peter assures him with no small amount of ego. "And I will enjoy it." He's smiling until a thought occurs to him and he lifts a brow at Derek. "Don't even think of approaching Stiles until this is settled with Argent. Stiles will fall in line easily enough when she finally does, but you're likely to fuck it up right now."

Derek simply stares at Peter before giving him a short nod of agreement.

Peter suppresses the urge to smile this time, but only just. Inwardly, he's crowing.

************

It's dark now, and Peter lurks outside the Argent home, just in time to spy Chris standing over Allison's sleeping form on a sofa. He can see the concern etched on the man's features, the worry, the desire to protect, but he can also see the fundamental inability to express any of that when the girl jars awake, eyes wide and staring up at her father. He's already noted that Stiles' jeep is missing from the drive-way, which means the Argent duo is alone, but from what he's witnessing, Allison finds no comfort in being alone with her father. In fact, she's barely suppressing a shudder. He frowns, wondering if Chris Argent can smell the fear radiating from his only child. Apparently not when he does nothing to reassure her, only tells her that he's going out for a meeting.

"I'll be home in a couple of hours, but text me if you need anything," he urges her.

She swallows and forces a smile. "I'll be fine," she replies, but she's lying. She doesn't think she'll be fine, and Peter can hear it. Sadly, the only thing he can do for her at the moment is attend this meeting with Chris, and so he slips into the shadows as soon as the hunter makes for the door. He doesn't see her reach for her cell phone. Instead, he takes off running on four legs, aiming for a shortcut so he can beat Chris to the cemetery. 

He arrives at their neutral choice of rendezvous, wearing the darkness around him like a cloak. He's comfortable in the night, comfortable in his own skin, whether that be human or werewolf. His eyes flash as he smirks and settles against a tombstone. It's probably combative of him, rude even, but he chooses to lean against Kate's, finding it poetic justice in it's own way. No matter who he was before the fire, Peter is _not_ a nice person any longer. If anyone fails to understand that he's a shell of the man he used to be, a burned hollow, then that's their mistake. He's not above using other's mistakes to his own benefit. Fortunately, Chris won't mistake him for that, but he will listen to him, of that Peter is sure.

Chris pulls into the parking lot, killing his lights and then he's striding purposely toward Peter. The werewolf watches the hunter, thinking the man has stayed incredibly fit for a human his age. He kind of hates him for it, and adds it to a long list of grievances against the Argents.

"This isn't morbid at all," Chris intones dryly. He doesn't remark on the stone that Peter has chosen to stand against. 

Peter huffs a chuckle. "You know me. We Hales have a flare for the dramatic. "

"Just get to the point," Chris sounds bored.

"We know about Allison," Peter concedes easily.

Chris doesn't even flinch. "It was only a matter of time."

They volley the words as if it's a sport, one they've played together before.

"Of course it was. I've actually known for some time, but the _alpha_ has finally got his head out of his ass long enough to notice. He also realizes that she and the Stilinski boy are -- unwell."

Chris does flinch at that, his mouth's sharp downturn evidence of his displeasure. "He should have foreseen it from Stilisnki, but I thought Allison would not feel those effects."

Peter tsks at him. He's tsking Derek too; it's a sad day when Chris Argent knows more about werewolf lore than his own family. He's focused on the hunter for now though, and he might as well be wagging a finger in the air between them as he shakes his head. "Come now, Christopher. You understand werewolves almost as well as we understand ourselves. You knew their being shunted from the pack would cause --,"

Chris cuts him off again. He knows the man in front of him all too well, and he knows not to let him wind up. "Stiles, I expected, but Allison -- I thought she wasn't ever really pack." 

"Oh there you go, trying on denial like a bad habit. But this time, it's going to hurt your daughter. Unless you wish her ill --" This time Peter purposely trails off, barely suppressing a smirk.

"I would _never_ hurt my daughter," Chris manages to reply through gritted teeth.

"Like you wouldn't hurt your wife?" Peter can't stop himself from baiting him.

Chris flinches again, and pales in the moonlight. Peter can't help but enjoy that he struck a nerve with such an accurate shot. It had been mostly a guess, but not much of a leap.

"Victoria's choice. Not mine. She chose -- she couldn't live with --," Chris is struggling for words as if they pain him and Peter tsks him again.

"Was it really her choice or was Gerard running the show?" Peter asks, genuinely curious. "For all your tradition of having women lead you, it seems like the old man was in control." He brushes a piece of invisible lint off his sleeve as if they were discussing the weather, not even looking at the hunter. "Based on your reaction, you loved her." 

"Of course I loved her," Chris answers without hesitation. "You aren't married to someone for twenty years without caring for them."

Peter's eyes lift and bore into Chris' own. He can see pain there, but it brings him neither satisfaction nor pity. "Gerard chose her for you. I suppose he chose well. Until she was bitten and therefore vermin."

Chris suppresses the flinch this time. If Peter is disappointed by his lack of reaction, he doesn't show it.

"So pardon my interest, but you'll understand that I'm a little concerned how safe your daughter is in your care. She's carrying a possible werewolf, after all. Or perhaps you're waiting until after the child is born, and then deciding whether to exterminate the babe or no?" Peter muses, a brow lifted.

"I would never harm my daughter or my grandchild," Chris states unequivocally.

Peter can tell that he's not lying, and that can only work in their favor. He's pleased that Chris Argent isn't quite the monster that Peter thought he might become. Chris might be weak, but he isn't evil. He abides by his own code.

"You know she needs pack or she's only going to grow more ill, even with Stiles shoring up her reserves. And do you realize what a drain that must be on him?" Peter points out.

"And Derek is willing to accept her as Pack and protect her? Even if the child is fully human?" Chris asks cautiously. He's clearly not comfortable considering it at all, but he cares about his daughter's well-being, as well as his grandchild.

Peter would wager a fortune that Chris is yearning for a fully human grandchild; personally, he's hoping for a werewolf. 

"Of course she'll be accepted either way. Derek's Alpha instinct to protect is in overdrive. He understands now that Allison is pack because of Scott. And you know as well as I do that werewolf packs always have humans too, so she'll be safe and accepted." Peter pauses, thinking about how foolish Derek has been. He'd booted out an essential human member in banishing Stiles, and frankly, he is worried that the sheriff's son will not fall in as easily as he's assured Derek. He can't worry about that now so he continues. "He would have met with you, but I convinced him I was the better choice for this."

Chris snorts at that.

"Oh, he doesn't have an inkling of our history, but he's not the best with diplomacy," Peter smiles, even if there's an edge to it.

Chris makes no reference to their history. He hasn't since they began this conversation. "And what of Stiles?"

"He'll be brought back into the fold, of course," Peter murmurs. "We'll expect a truce with you, and you to keep other hunters out of our territory. But even without your agreement to that, she would be welcome. And she needs us. That baby needs us. You _know_ this."

Chris crosses his arms, and then uncrosses them with a heavy sigh. "She's really Scott's mate," he states as if he's accepting the reality of it, no matter how much he hates it.

Peter simply huffs at him, finding that goes without saying. "She's going to need encouragement from you. She's been taught to hate Derek and the pack."

Chris nods sharply at that. "I know enough about how packs work to explain."

"If your father or sister were alive, they might have already killed Allison. Or cut that baby right out of her," Peter adds because he can't quite let it go too easily, their brutality. 

"I am not them," Chris says softly.

"Close enough though. Close enough to let your father make your decisions. But he never completely trusted you, did he? You sacrificed your own possible happiness on the altar of his hate, and still didn't measure up. It's as if -- he knew all along," Peter muses, watching Chris carefully.

Chris' brow furrows. "I don't have time for this, Peter. Say what you have to say so I can return to my daughter."

"Oh, but Christopher, I have so much to share."

"Don't call me that," Chris snaps.

Peter smirks. He revels in the smallest victories these days. "Kate visited me, did you know? When I was incapacitated. When I was forced to relive the night I lost most of my family, my pack, every single day, trapped inside my own head. While my body refused to heal, she came to tell me that she was glad I'd survived, glad that I would keep suffering. Since _I_ was why she targeted us. She shared that your father tasked her with destroying the Hales, all of the Hales. Because of me."

He watches Chris' eyes widen and then narrow, watches awareness dawn, the pieces falling into place. This isn't a small victory, no. This is shared pain, shared guilt and a shared past that's been a long time coming.

"Or rather, not just I alone, but us. You and me. Because your father knew, _Christopher_. All our sneaking about, the hiding you insisted upon? It was all useless, wasted. Even our break-up so you could fall in line, so you could fulfill his wishes. It wasn't enough simply because _it_ happened at all. And how dare a monster like me ever --," he trails off, but his hands are in the air as if stroking and touching an invisible body in front of him. But it's not invisible, it's standing a few feet away. "Well, we both know it was mutual. We both know who pursued who. But he didn't punish you, did he? He married you off to a woman he considered valuable, let you have a family, while he _burned_ mine."

Chris literally stumbles in place, catching himself on air to balance, and looks at Peter with wide eyes, rocking on this feet as if the earth had been ripped from under him. He had had no idea. Peter wishes he could find comfort in that, but emotions like that have been scoured out of him. 

Peter also wishes he could find out why they'd waited so long to exact vengeance, but alas, he'll never know the answer to that question because apparently, Chris has no clue about any of it. And Gerard and Kate are long dead.

"Now you know exactly why I killed her. I took pleasure in ripping out her throat, as much pleasure as she took in setting a house of innocents on fire," Peter continues, almost as if he's enjoying inflicting this pain on the other man. 

"And -- and you expect me to entrust my daughter to you?" Chris whispers. "Knowing what my family did to you?"

"I hated Gerard and Kate, and I hate you," Peter replies in a silken voice. "But I consider that wolf babe inside her the grandchild I'll never have. I consider Allison and her child as replacements for the family yours ripped from me. I may be damaged, but I would never hurt them because of you." 

Chris frowns. "I - I need to talk to Derek. And I need time to consider--"

Peter steps into Chris' space, gripping the back of his neck in such a tight hold, the hunter is practically frozen in place. "You will _not_ tell Derek of our history or the reason he lost his entire family. And if you care about Allison, you will bridge the gap between her and our pack."

"No wonder you hate me," Chris whispers, even as his eyes flash angrily, rebelling against submitting to Peter's malicious grasp. Peter knows he would never have managed this level of control over the other man if Chris hadn't just been emotionally bombed, and he enjoys the exquisite fallout all the more for it.

"I don't hate you because of the fire, Chris," Peter murmurs softly, almost amused. He trails the back of his knuckles down Peter's cheek before letting his claws out. He then slides them over the side of Chris' neck, across the jugular, without nicking the skin. "No, I hate you for breaking my teenage heart. And I hate you for making me a fucking cliche." He forcefully pushes the hunter away from him as he says the last word. "But now you need me, or at least you need my pack. I'll have to take comfort in that irony." He takes a few steps backward, smirking again. The night air has cooled in the course of their appointment, the darkness becoming a heavy weight. Peter likes the feel of it, finds it soothing on his skin. Sometimes it feels as if he's still on fire, still burning. The cold air is refreshing. The smile he gives Chris is flippant. "I'll tell Derek to expect your call."

Peter doesn't wait on a response, turning away and leaving the cemetery without a backward glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated for this chapter.
> 
> Each chapter will be told from a different characters POV, though some will get more than one chapter. Again, I can promise that this story will find a happy ending, but expect much angst on the long journey ahead. Mistakes often have far-reaching consequences, and everyone seems to be feeling it in this fic. 
> 
> Also, I want to take a moment to say thank you for all the kudos and comments on the first chapter. I was stunned and beyond pleased by all the positive support. I'll finish this tale without it, but it certainly helps motivate me to write faster. Seriously, thank you.


	3. {and so we begin}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Allison have a plan, and are ready to put it in action. They refuse to be pawns or victims. Methinks Derek might have realized his mistake a bit too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to counterintuitivefangirl and UpstandingDeliquent for looking over this chapter. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 3  
\- Stiles -  
and so we begin  


_Two months prior..._

Stiles arranges for Allison to drop him off three blocks away from their destination, and he walks the distance to Danny's house, trying to stay out of sight. He's relieved to see no other cars in the drive-way, save his target's, and then has to shake his head at himself. Danny is a person, a classmate and _not_ a target. Stiles is not in a pack anymore, he's not fighting bad guys. He's just a high school junior these days, and he needs a favor. He hopes he's not wrong in trusting not-a-target-Danny today, but his options are severely limited.

He's wearing one of Chris Argent's jackets and one of his dad's caps, trying to hide his face as he slips up to the Mahealani front door and rings the bell. He's prepared for a parental unit to greet him but instead it's a barefoot Danny, and he looks frankly shocked to see Stiles on his doorstep. "Hey. Sorry to just show up like this, but -- I need to talk to you. I need a favor," he says quickly, almost apologetically, but no less determined. "Could I come in?" He's antsy and feels exposed; the quicker they're inside, the better.

Danny lifts a brow, but steps back, allowing Stiles entrance. "God, thank you," he breathes out, entering immediately and moving behind the door, out of sight from the street.

Danny just looks at him as if he's lost his ever-loving mind. Maybe he has. Maybe it's crazy to come to Danny at all. He can only hope he doesn't regret it later.

"Look, Stilinski, if you're here to ask me more questions about being attractive to gay guys, seriously, don't. I'm not some gay Yoda," Danny begins, but Stiles is already shaking his head. He barks out an awkward laugh.

"Oh fuck no. Just _no_. My attraction to guys is seriously the least of my worries these days. Damn, I wish that were my only issue," Stiles assures him quickly. "Listen, I'm here to offer you an exchange. I need something from you, but I've got information. Things you need to know."

Danny finally closes the front door at that, biting his bottom lip a long moment before replying. "Are you going to tell me what the hell has been going on around here? Because I've got to tell you, you and Scott weren't whispering nearly as well as you thought you were. And I still couldn't figure out shit because -- you weren't making sense."

Stiles nods, his head bobbing fast. "That's exactly what I'm offering you. All the answers you want, the honest truth. And if you think it's worth it, then I'd like to ask a favor in return. And seriously Danny, we were at the Jungle that night to protect you, so you owe me and don't even know it."

Danny just stares at him, soaking that in and then tilts his head toward the stairs. "My mom will be home soon. Come up to my room and we'll talk there."

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief that the other guy is going to at least hear him out. He pulls the cap off, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair as he follows Danny up the stairs. He only gives the bedroom a cursory glance, mainly checking all the exits (and how sad is it, that he's so trained to expect the worst) before giving his full attention to Danny.

"Sit," Danny nods at a game chair near his flat screen on one wall, while he settles on his own bed. 

Stiles sinks onto it, and inhales deeply before proceeding. He's practiced this speech for a week, trying to find a way to cover the most information in as short a time as possible. It works in his favor that he's good at talking. He starts at the beginning, and he's completely honest with the other guy. Granted, he omits a few things that aren't strictly necessary, or that he feels might endanger he and/or Allison, but he mostly gives Danny the whole tale, from beginning to end.

The thing is, Danny only looks disbelieving a few times, but Stiles knows all evidence points to the truth and that he's telling it. It all falls into place because it's all the missing pieces that Danny didn't know - until now. And when he finally finishes, he leans back, relaxing for the first time since entering Danny's home. "You know, it feels like a load off my shoulders, now that you know the truth, now that you aren't in the dark any longer," he remarks, mostly to himself. It was a side effect he hadn't really anticipated.

Danny is processing it, sorting through all the facts, but his attitude of suspicion, at least toward Stiles, has dissipated. He opens his mouth about to speak, and then closes it. He thinks a few minutes more and then rubs the bridge of his nose. "Jackson tried to fucking kill me," he breathes out.

Stiles can't help but wince. "Yeah, but he had no clue; he was being completely controlled by Matt," he reminds him. "When he was human, he was totally unaware of what he did when shifted."

Danny makes a strained noise in his throat, and Stiles feels bad for him. It's a lot to take in, especially knowing your best friend was a murderous reptile for a while. "I suggest you tell no one what you know. Not a soul," Stiles goes on. "If Derek finds out, I'm worried he'll want to bite you and make you pack."

Danny gasps. "I thought you said he got agreement from his betas first?" 

"He did. He used to, but he's the angriest person I have ever known in my life, and he -- he won't like that you know," Stiles answers honestly. "I have no idea how he's running things anymore, but he might decide it's easier to just turn you than deal with another human knowing his business."

"Are you worried he's going to bite you?" Danny asks.

"Sometimes, yeah," he admits. At least he'd worried about that at first, but now, not so much. Derek didn't even offer to bite him so he could remain in the pack. He had simply and summarily dismissed him, and had ignored him ever since, him and everyone else. _And God it still hurt._ He'd felt rudderless since losing his mother, and being in the pack had felt good. He felt like he belonged to something bigger than himself. He had begun thinking of the betas as family. Then Derek had jerked it all away.

Danny didn't need to hear those details though, and Stiles certainly didn't want to voice them. "Hell, Danny. I've got so many things to worry about up in my head, I can't keep up with them all. But that's why I'm here."

Danny levels a perceptive gaze on Stiles. "You need a favor. And you were right, in exchange for what you just shared, I'm willing to help you. If I can?"

"Thank you, God. And thank _you_ , Danny!" Stiles groans out. He even manages a smile. "I need new IDs and documentation. For Allison and me both. I've seen your fake ID and let me tell you, it looks more real than the one you get at the DMV."

"What kind of documents?" Danny wants details.

"Birth certificates. At least two different sets for each of us. Two new identities. Passports maybe?"

"Whoa, man! What are you two planning?"

Stiles hadn't told Danny about Allison's pregnancy. He didn't need to know about it, and Stiles had made it his highest priority to protect them. "Like I said, Allison is an Argent. When she attacked Derek and his pack that night in the warehouse, she made enemies. We both have many and assorted good reasons to leave Beacon Hills."

"Damn, Stilinski. That's -- you're sixteen! How the hell are you two going to --," Danny begins.

Stiles doesn't want to hear it. He's not immature, he's not a child. He's not irresponsible, and he's certainly not stupid. "I'm seventeen now actually. Allison is eighteen. She can leave here any time she wants, and honestly, I was raised by a Sheriff. I know exactly how to avoid getting caught. But it will be a lot easier if I have resources like I'm asking you to provide me. I'm going to finish this year out, but I have to ask you, whether you agree to help or not, to never mention this to anyone. If you want to risk telling anyone what you know about the local werewolf problem, that's your skin, but _please_ don't risk ours too."

"Wait, no, no. I'm not going to betray you. I realize we've never been close, but you finally filled me in on some serious shit that I had a right to know. Things _Jackson_ should have shared-- I can't believe he kept me in the dark. So yeah, I'll help you. I owe you a solid. And fake IDs and birth certificates are easy. I can even get you a couple social security cards made," Danny assures him.

Stiles, in that moment, wishes he were a werewolf, just so he could gauge whether or not Danny is lying, or even wavering. The sad fact is, he's simply going to have to trust him, and these days, trust comes hard. Finding options lately comes harder though, and Danny is one of his last in this town.

"What about Lydia?" Danny suddenly asks. "You said she was immune. That she saved Jackson."

Stiles can only shrug. "Honestly, I don't know where she stands in the pack. She's still with Jackson. She and Allison no longer speak. I wouldn't trust her." He frowns, knowing Danny won't like hearing that.

"Dude, I'm not telling _anyone_ what I know," Danny mutters staring at his floor, as if giving himself a warning reminder. He looks directly at Stiles again. "Lydia's been acting weird, but yeah, it _all_ makes sense now." Danny stands then, pacing beside his bed. "It'll take me at least a month to get your stuff made." He'll have to outsource a couple of things.

"That's fine! A month is great," Stiles assures him, sounding grateful. "And I really can't thank you enough. If you need cash, it shouldn't come out of your own pocket, so -- I mean, I'd offer you a chunk of cash right now, but...," he trails off with an uncomfortable, apologetic shrug. 

"But you need every penny for what you two have planned," Danny finishes for him. Stiles can only nod.

"Any chance you could -- do passports?" Stiles pushes his luck. Danny had ignored that particular request.

Danny whistles long and low, shaking his head. "No way, man. Out of my scope, but I could give you the name of a man in San Francisco? But he'll require a sizeable amount of cash up front."

Stiles nods at that. "I'll take the name, even if I never use it," he stands at last, feeling tired and worn; he sometimes wonders if he was born old. He can only hope getting away from this place once and for all will ease some of the weight on his shoulders. Some days he's certain the stress is slowly killing him.

********

_Present day_

Stiles is tired of going to bed early, and still feeling as if he has barely slept a wink all night when he rolls out of bed. This day had been shit from the moment he woke up, so he should have expected to run into Derek at the grocery store. He should have expected Allison would face down the town's Alpha in the parking lot. And he should have expected Derek to find out about the baby much sooner than they'd hoped. If wishes were horses, well, beggars would fucking ride and no one would have known about Allison's pregnancy, aside from her father.

It's a huge cluster fuck, but Beacon Hills is a small town, so it isn't that surprising. At least they have a plan in place, and that's what he says in reassurance to Allison when he drives her home after, groceries completely forgotten. She's crying as she stares out the window. She's fighting it, but the tears still fall and it makes Stiles' stomach hurt to witness. Allison is one of the strongest people he's ever met and Derek has reduced her to this in a matter of moments.

"He's going to try and take my baby," she whispers. "And if Derek doesn't take him, then Dad is going to hurt --," she hiccups, "him."

Stiles pulls into the nearest parking lot and reaches to put a comforting arm around her shoulders, drawing her into a supportive hug. "Neither of those things will happen. We've got a plan, remember?"

"We're out of time! We can't wait until school is out. We can't --," she breaks off to hold back a sob.

"You're right. We can't wait, and we won't. It's no big deal. It's not as if I'm waiting to graduate. We were going to have to figure out senior year after we left anyway, so -- we'll leave tomorrow instead," Stiles decides, sounding firm and certain. They have what the need to disappear, and there's nothing to stop them because they've been very careful to keep their plan secret. 

Allison looks up at him, her eyelashes wet, mascara smeared. Allison is usually not this despairing, and he's worried for her and for the baby because of it. "You're really ready? To just leave it all behind?"

Stiles swallows thickly at her question because this is it, the eleventh hour so to speak. It's their own personal full moon. He should be more scared, but his only genuine concern about leaving is his father. He loves his Dad, but things have been ruined between then since Scott had been bitten and Stiles had began routinely lying to him. Now that his dad is drinking, their relationship is even more tense and strained. He's been trying to make up for his sophomore year since his banishment from Derek's pack, to atone for all the lies and secrecy, but he can't seem to bridge the gap. If Stiles were really honest with himself, he'd admit that he didn't trust his father any longer. He didn't trust anyone, except Allison. "Yeah, I'm ready," he answers honestly, feeling the conviction of his own words. "Dad -- I'll have to write him some day, but not for a very, very long time."

Allison nods, and Stiles is relieved she so readily understands. The two of them talk now, about everything, and she understands why Stiles wants to leave town as well as he understands her motivations. She really has no choice, and he can't imagine staying in town without her anyway.

"I need to get you home, pick up something for dinner so Dad doesn't get suspicious and then get busy," Stiles goes on, moving back fully into his seat. "You'll be okay, right?"

Allison looks better already, more purposeful and more centered. "I'll be fine. I'll do what needs doing on my end," she assures him, and there's hope in her voice again. Stiles is relieved, so very relieved to hear it as he drops her off at her home.

*******

He, of course, argues with his dad, because he'd failed to pick up groceries as instructed, and it only solidifies his decision. He leaves to go to Allison's, to cool off, to help her pack as well, but finally comes home to do his own packing. He and Allison need to get out of town, away from the dangers presented from both her father and the Hale pack, and try to build a life. Allison's baby deserves to live, deserves to thrive, and dammit, they all deserve to be happy.

He's laying in bed, his duffel bag full and hidden in his closet, only toiletries waiting to be thrown in last minute, when his cell phone vibrates later that night.

"Stiles! We -- we need to leave now. Can we do that? Can you - will you come get me and get us out of here?" Allison sounds urgent and scared, even more than she had after seeing Derek. He hears loud music in the background, a technique she uses when trying to protect her conversations from any bugs. They've become _that_ paranoid.

"Allison? Yeah, yeah, of course, but -- what happened? Are you okay?" He's keeping his voice low as well, even though he'd heard his father head to bed already.

"I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, Dad was standing over me, just -- just hovering. He scared the crap out of me! I don't know what he's planning, but he was going to a meeting -- of some kind. It -- something feels off, and I don't want to be here when he gets back," she explains quickly, words tripping over each other when they're not stuttering in fright. "What if he's found a doctor -- a doctor to --," she can't finish the thought. 

Stiles knows though, exactly what she's worried about. What they both have been worried about ever since she discovered she was pregnant. She's over six months along now, and they should be safe, but they can't trust Chris Argent. He's made werewolf hunting his lifelong career and they just can't take the chance.

"Calm down, if you can, okay? I'm on my way. Give me ten minutes, all right?" Stiles promises.

"He just left. He said the meeting would take a couple of hours, but he could have lied. I don't know. Please be careful, but please -- please get here soon," Allison whispers, as if afraid she'll be overheard in the empty house, despite the blaring stereo.

Ten minutes later, Stiles pulls up to the Argent home. It feels like he's been here a million times already today, but there's something grounding in the knowledge that it's his last visit. Ever. She opens the front door, clearly waiting on him and he sweeps past her to get the suitcases they had packed and hidden earlier. She has way more portmanteau than him, but then, she's purposely accumulated things for the baby. Their preparation for this eventuality has been as thorough as they felt it was necessary. He fills up the back of his Jeep, and gently guides her into the passenger seat. She's not nearly large enough to need assistance, but she looks so tired, and he can't resist the urge to help her.

They don't say anything to each other, as if the situation calls for a solemn silence as he drives to the bridge on the edge of town. They both climb out of the Jeep and he holds out his hand. "You ready?"

"Yes," she agrees, planting her cell phone in his palm. He pulls his own from his back pocket and in a single throw, flings them both far into the inky water below. "And so we begin," he murmurs, glancing to her.

"Did you leave the clues?" Allison asks once they get back into the vehicle and are on the road.

"Yep, my laptop is just full of links and searches for all sorts of places that we'll never go," Stiles answers, pulling away and into the night. Neither of them turn to look back.

"Did you bring your stash?" he asks her in turn.

Allison pats her large coat pocket. "Every penny. I emptied the safe." She sounds proud of herself.

Stiles whistles softly. "Thing is, your dad can't even press charges without explaining it's ill-gotten origins. Do you think he knew Gerard and Kate were selling illegal weapons?"

"I truly believe, or at least, I need to believe he didn't know they were breaking the code all over the country, but I think he knew about the weapons, yes," Allison answers softly. "I just don't think he was in on it." She pauses, looks out the window and then back to Stiles. "It doesn't matter what he's guilty of, and what he isn't. He wouldn't have accepted my baby." Her hands cup her stomach protectively and Stiles swallows hard. They both love that baby so much and it's not even here yet.

Stiles knows there's nothing further he can say about Chris Argent, and so he changes the subject. "We'll stop in a couple of hours and buy some pay as you go mobile phones," Stiles murmurs. He'd brought his own savings, but it was meager compared to Allison's hoard. He would make some money off the Jeep when they sold it tomorrow, even though most of it would go into the next used vehicle they purchased. Still, he felt like he was contributing.

"The lockbox?" she asks.

"Under your seat," Stiles replies. "My wallet is in the glove compartment."

Allison busies herself retrieving said box, and pulling out their new identities. She hides her old one away before locking it back up. "So after we sell the Jeep tomorrow, we'll put your old ID cards in too," she murmurs, voice a little tight. Stiles suspect its from nerves.

"Listen. Your dad isn't going to be happy, but he follows the code. He's not going to hunt you down just to harm your baby. And Derek and the pack - they don't really want us, they made that crystal clear. I'm not sure the baby is enough motivation for them to try to track us for long. Either way, we've planned this down to the last detail. It's going to be okay; we'll be safe," Stiles promises her, nodding along with his own words. He reaches to pat her hand, but instead she clasps it in her own and squeezes tight.

Allison exhales slowly, and by the time she's done, he can see her physically relax. She relaxes the grip on his hand as well. She smiles then, a real smile, and Stiles can't help but return it, wide and enthusiastic. The future is beyond uncertain, but at least they're in it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone that has taken the time to leave comments and/or kudos. They are so very appreciated!
> 
> Chapter 4 is completed and being polished, so expect to see it up soon! I feel like the first three chapters set up all the rest; I hope you're enjoying the ride!


	4. {a friend as true}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Allison are on the run from Beacon Hills. And a baby is about to be born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to UpstandingDeliquent for looking over this chapter. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 4  
\- Allison -  
a friend as true  


Their first month on the run is actually fun, more fun than she's had in a very long time. It's Stiles and Allison's Excellent Adventure, except without the historical figures, George Carlin and there's definitely a baby on the way instead of a phone booth. They are free to relax and just _be_ for the first time in nearly a year. They laugh and joke like the teenagers they are and it's good. She feels good, at least emotionally. Physically is another story altogether.

The pregnancy is still weighing on her, making her more tired all the time as her stomach continues to expand, but she's had a rough time of it from the beginning. Still, she's never doubted the aches are worth it. She has Stiles to thank for getting her so completely out of danger that the baby can be born without any immediate threats hanging over any of them. Actually, she can't imagine how she would have managed without Stiles. She'd like to think of herself as capable and intelligent, but pregnancy hormones are little bitches that have made her hyper-emotional. And frankly it's scary, being pregnant with no one to turn to, except she isn't completely alone. She hasn't been alone at all because of the boy -- no, the man, stretched out beside her. 

Stiles' hair is longer; he began growing it out once they left, and it makes him look older. She doesn't count him a man because of hair though, not at all. No, it's how he bears responsibilities, how mature he is about a baby not even his, and how he focuses on their future instead of their past.

Sometimes she really wishes, with all her heart, she could fall in love with Stiles, that they could fall in love with each other, like they've both already fallen in love with the baby growing inside her, but it's just not there. She loves Stiles, she'd kill for him if need be (and her crossbow is always within easy reach under the seat), but her feelings are purely platonic. His are as well.

As they lay in the hotel room bed (she's lost count of how many hotels they've stayed in, but this is one of the more comfortable rooms she's decided) and stare at the ceiling, the duo are discussing this very thing. 

"You know, I don't have to be in love with you to help you with the baby," Stiles murmurs. "We're family, you and me. We don't have to share blood. You're -- you're the sister I never had, Allison."

"We're motherless wanderers," Allison responds with a soft, sad smile. "Without siblings, except each other by choice. Who knew we had so much in common?"

Stiles reaches over and briefly strokes her hair. "That being said, if your baby doesn't call me daddy, I'm gonna cry," he teases. But she knows that he really means it, and she's already anticipated that eventuality. She's accepted it and embraced it, and counts herself fortunate to have a friend as true as Stiles Stilinski.

"What happens -- when one of us meets someone? What if we fall in love with them?" she asks the darkened room. They do this often, after laying down for the night but before getting down to the business of sleeping. They talk quietly, about anything and everything, sometimes serious, sometimes not, and it's both comforting and comfortable. 

The only thing they both, in unspoken agreement, absolutely won't discuss is Scott and Derek. She's never even heard Stiles voice his actual feelings for the werewolf Alpha who had ripped away his friends. Maybe it had never developed beyond a crush, or maybe Stiles' affections were too fresh and unexplored to ever acknowledge, but she knows for a fact that Stiles had been attracted to Derek Hale; Scott had divulged that tidbit while they were still together, still a couple. She also speculates, just from knowing Stiles so well now, that any emotions Stiles might have felt were crushed along with his heart, but his seeming disinterest in anyone beyond her and her unborn child make her believe his feelings had run deep and weren't easily expunged. So yeah, she thinks Stiles was in love with Derek. She thinks those very feelings had compounded the betrayal he'd felt when he'd been banished. 

It makes her sad because he deserves to find someone special, to be loved in return, but mostly, it makes her angry. She'd really like to _hurt_ Derek Hale. Again. Just once more. Okay, a few more times. 

She voices none of that though, adhering to their mutual understanding. If she brings up specifics, if she says Derek's name, he might bring up Scott and she just can't -- that really says it all. She just _can't_. She can talk about the future instead. It's their favorite topic, after the baby, because the future looks so much brighter than their more recent past. 

"If one of us meets someone, how do we begin to explain our weird relationship? Because we both know this little guy is going to consider you his daddy, and I'm fine with that Stiles. I really am." She feels him smile in response to her words, and they reach out at the same time to hold each other's hand before she goes on. 

"And even if they can handle our weird together but not together dependency, what if my baby **is** a werewolf?" Allison voices, like a stream of consciousness. "I'll be all _'Oh yeah, this is the baby's father, Stiles. Nope, he's not the biological father, but he's still the father and will always, yes, always be a part of our lives. Oh, you want me to move in? That's fine, but Stiles really has to come along.'_." She giggles softly and Stiles does too. " _'Oh, and my baby boy, he's a werewolf. He might spring claws if you take his sippy cup so yeah, might want to be careful.'_." Stiles starts laughing and she can't help but join in.

The thing is, she's not actually distressed by these concerns. In fact, she feels fortunate she has the opportunity to consider them at all. She'd spent months first hiding her pregnancy from her father and then a couple more ensuring he wasn't about to attack her or force her into an abortion. The constant vigilance had been exhausting; just making it day to day was enough to worry about. Silly concerns like future boyfriends is a luxury, which is probably why she's ruminating over it at all. She has the freedom to do so, and she's enjoying it.

"I never really knew how funny you were, before," Stiles comments. "You're actually really hilarious, and I had no idea."

"Its kind of hard to joke around when an Alpha is chasing you down through your own high school at night. Or when Derek sends his betas after one of your friends because they _think_ she's a Kanima. Or when the actual Kanima is on a murderous rampage in the Sheriff's department and your family is hunting him," Allison answers wryly.

They both fall silent and Allison closes her eyes, letting go of Stiles' hand while trying find a more comfortable position. It's difficult to do with only a little over month left until her due date. They'd been driving all day besides, in their new (though very ungently used) car and she's feeling the wearying effects of constant travel. They'd sold the Jeep the morning after they ran away, and she is surprised even now that Stiles didn't seem terribly sad at the time. She asked him about it once while on one of many long highways they'd traveled thus far, and he'd explained he was ready to let go of everything connected to Beacon Hills. Well, everything except their friendship.

Which made his next words all the more surprising to Allison. 

"Have you ever considered finding another pack? A better pack?" Stiles voices into the bubble of quiet calm surrounding them. "As much as I hate to admit it, I - like werewolves. I don't want to be one, but I know all about them as much research as I've done and -- there are healthier packs than the one in Beacon Hills. Ones that accept humans. Ones without angry alphas. The baby would be around others like him too, especially if he's a werewolf."

Allison goes completely still. She'd never even considered that option, but it really shouldn't surprise her that Stiles has pondered it and knowing him, probably at length. "Is that what you want?" she finally asks, tone neutral. She doesn't want to shoot Stiles' solution down. They respect each other too much to dismiss each other's ideas out of hand, and she trusts Stiles. She trusts his judgment enough to listen, at the very least.

"I think, if baby boy is a wolfie, it's something we should really evaluate. List the pros and cons. I know a lot, and so do you, but do we really know enough to raise a werewolf child all on our own?" Stiles ponders aloud. "On the other hand, I know with your background as a hunter, getting a pack to trust us will be hard, and lying to werewolves is almost impossible. They'd figure out you were an Argent eventually, but maybe your having a werewolf baby is enough --," he trails off and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Fuck it. I don't know." He sounds so weary, and she hates how much responsibility he's had on his shoulders. She feels like she's to blame for most of it.

Allison makes a soothing noise and pats his shoulder. "You don't have to know right now. We don't have to decide anything yet. We have another month before the baby is born." She pauses, but eventually goes on because they're always honest with each other. "I've always known the whole werewolf pack dynamic was -- attractive to you. It was a family. And you felt useful." Until recently, Allison had enjoyed having both parents and an aunt she'd adored. Stiles had had only his father for years, so of course he embraced the pack mentality more so than she ever could. And there was just something mesmerizing and magnetic about werewolves; she couldn't claim to be immune, not after the way she'd been drawn to Scott. 

"I don't want _anything_ that's going to be harmful to you and the baby," Stiles assures her immediately. Allison hears the anxiety in his tone, as if he feels guilty for thinking of it at all.

"I know that. You think I don't know that? Stiles, I trust you. I don't think this is a good idea, but that doesn't change how much I trust you," Allison answers. She sighs softly as she rubs a hand over her belly. "I just worry -- what if they kill us and keep my baby? Werewolves are so protective of young, but I'm not sure that would extend to us." God knows Allison and Stiles had had zero value to the Hale pack, at least as far as they knew.

Stiles' lets out a harsh, pained breath. "Fuck that. I won't let that happen. And you're right. It's a real possibility, one we can't chance."

She interrupts him before he starts any self-recriminations, reaching for his hand and placing it on her stomach. The baby is kicking and they both take great delight in the activity whenever it happens. It works beautifully as a distraction because Stiles is sitting up now, his smile evident through the slim beam of light peeking through the hotel curtain.

She groans at him and then laughs. "Yeah, it's all fun and games for you two, but it's my insides being punished."

"I've let you mostly convince me it's a boy, but I still say it could be a little girl," Stiles banters, their previous conversation forgotten, at least until later, in favor of the miracle kicking against his palm. "She could be a soccer player with kicks like that."

"He. It's a he. And I don't care if he prefers ballet or soccer as long as he's healthy," Allison sniffs at him, moving up on her elbows.

"You're going to be a good mom, Allison Argent," Stiles grins.

"Yeah?" she smiles back at him. And she hopes he's right.

**********

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!" Allison yells at the delivery room. She's not really targeting Stiles, though he's the one wincing at her cursing as if he can actually feel the force of the words in his face. Maybe he can, considering he's bent over her, mopping her brow and trying to remind her to breathe through the contractions wracking her body. They hadn't been able to attend an actual Lamaze class, but they'd watched videos at local libraries and practiced alone.

They'd rolled into Los Angeles a week ago in a different used car, their third since they'd made their escape. It was their plan the whole time to slip into the large city near her due date, present themselves as a teen couple with no medical insurance, no parents themselves, and a baby imminent at a busy, strapped hospital whenever she went into labor. And that's just what had transpired. Like all of Stiles' plans so far, it had worked. She'd weathered most of the labor in their hotel room by her own choice, so that when they arrived, there would be no time for questions or forms. Stiles had kept urging her to go in sooner, but part of her was scared to leave the safety of the hotel room. Who knew what might happen at a hospital? What if they were found? This was their greatest threat of discovery, their weakest moment. And also the most important to them both.

They'd finally gone to the ER, and they were whisked up to labor and delivery as soon as they checked her progress -- it was that close to showtime. But having no insurance meant no epidural, and the shot of pain relief they'd put into her IV did nothing for the pain of her contractions.

She'd thought the labor pains were difficult before reaching the hospital, but their intensity swells are even stronger, now that it's nearly time to push. So Allison is finding her inner sailor. If Stiles is shocked at her language, he doesn't show it. Somehow they both manage to never utter their real names, even when her pain is at its greatest. 

She's at last allowed to push and it goes quickly after that. Allison is crying in happiness as the nurse finally hands her a screaming baby girl. She's not at all surprised to see tears running down Stiles' face as well. It takes her a moment to swallow down the overwhelming emotions to smile at her best friend. "You were right," her voice cracks. "It's a girl."

Stiles can only nod, still overcome with sentiment, but he leans down to press a kiss to Allison's forehead before gently touching the newborn's cheek.

Allison just cries harder, and her daughter seemingly tries to match her sobs with wails of her own, and Stiles is right there with them, laughing through the tears.

"Do you even have a girl's name picked out?" he finally manages, teasing and fond all at the same time.

Allison is about to answer him when the nurse reaches for her baby, and she clings protectively, unwilling to let go.

"Oh honey, we'll bring her back to you as soon as we get her washed up. She needs to be weighed and checked over and all that good stuff, but you'll have her back in no time," the RN assures her.

"She won't leave this room?" Allison asks.

"Not unless there's a problem."

Allison reluctantly lets her go, only because she knows she must. Her eyes watch every move the nurses make and she notes that Stiles is doing the same, like he's guarding them both from harm. She's so caught up in the sight of her daughter, and the fear of losing her somehow from this very room that she effectively ignores the doctor and nurse still finishing up routine postpartum procedure.

It feels like forever before they bring her tiny infant back, all swaddled in blankets. The newborn is not crying loudly any longer, instead whimpering with little noises of dissatisfaction. Those stop the moment Allison cuddles her to her chest. 

"Oh my God, she's adorable and amazing," Stiles breathes out.

The gurney carrying Allison and her newborn is then being wheeled into a recovery room, with Stiles staying right by their side.

The nurse informs Stiles that he'll be expected to fill out forms very soon, but that he can have a few minutes with Allison and the newborn before disappearing down the hall. At last they're alone, just the three of them and the two teens share a sigh of relief. 

"Are you okay? How are you after all that?" Stiles asks worriedly.

Allison's answering smile is so wide, Stiles looks blown away by the pure joy on her face. "I am fine. I am better than fine!" she beams, and it's true. She feels better than she has since - ever. Maybe it's adrenaline or euphoria, but her baby is here and well and they're still safe. So far.

"We have to get out of here," she whispers with determination.

She sees his Adam's apple bob he swallows so hard and he gives her an intense look. "Are you sure you're well enough to leave?"

"Stiles, listen to me. I just gave birth to a baby, with no complications. I'm tired, I'm exhausted, but I am perfectly fine. I feel outstanding! Better than I have in months! So let's get out of here before we get caught," Allison assures him, her tone forceful. 

Apparently that's all Stiles needs to hear because he goes into action, first retrieving her clothes and then looking out the door to ensure no one's coming. 

"You're going to have to hold her while I change," Allison whispers. "I'm not putting her down on that bed when your arms are available," she grins.

Stiles looks bashful and proud all at the same time as he moves up beside her and lets Allison slip the sleeping newborn into his arms. He's crying again as he looks at the tiny babe, like she's precious, like she's fragile and Allison is crying too when she slips into the bathroom. 

When she comes out, she really doesn't look like a woman who has just given birth. She looks happy though and she looks driven. 

They make it out of the destitute hospital without incident.

************

It's the next day, and the trio is sleeping until the baby stirs with a soft noise of complaint. Allison and Stiles are both instantly awake. Since sneaking out of the hospital, they've barely talked, too caught up with attending to the baby and Allison's immediate needs, but when they catch each other's eye over the baby between them they smile.

"Are we going to call her baby girl for the rest of her life?" Stiles laughs softly.

"I know what I want to name her, but I thought I'd let you choose her middle name," Allison grins. It's like they're sharing a secret, like they've found a treasure.

"Deal!" Stiles agrees instantly, excited but still whispering. They can tell the baby will be awake very soon by her little noises and by her small movements; they want to finish their discussion first if at all possible.

"Don't laugh, but I love the idea of naming her Destiny. Because we've made sure she has one," Allison divulges. "Besides, it's pretty and so is she."

Stiles nods in approval. "I like it. And it's French, like your family."

Allison blushes. She hadn't really known that, but she's not surprised that he does. It really wasn't a deciding factor and she tells him so.

He grins. "It wouldn't matter if it were. It's a good name and there's nothing wrong with a French heritage!" he points out. "And it sounds really great, like _really_ really great, with her middle name."

Allison is dying to hear his choice, and she reaches over to gently punch him for making her wait for it. "Don't be an asshole. What is it?"

Stiles gives her a mocking, exaggerated face of horror. "You did not just use that kind of language in front of Destiny?!"

Stiles is too loud in his teasing, or else it's just that time, but baby Destiny awakens with a mewling whimper. It quickly strengthens into a solid cry, and she clearly wants her next meal. Allison turns away to feed her, back to Stiles while he just sits there with a sappy smile on his face.

"I'd read that breastfeeding doesn't come so easily to many new mothers," Stiles notes, sounding impressed.

Allison groans, looking over her shoulder at him. "I should have known you read up on that too."

"There was a baby coming. I read up on everything your baby books had to share," he defends himself, still grinning.

"Well, I read up on it too. And yeah, I think I'm really lucky that this isn't more difficult," Allison agrees, gazing down on her daughter, still in awe of her. "She seems to know exactly what to do."

Stiles hums in response, but makes no comment.

Allison glances back at him again. "Do you think it's a sign that she's -- not fully human?" she asks quietly.

"Some human babies latch on without any problem, so not really," Stiles answers. Allison wonders why neither of them aren't more uncomfortable discussing breastfeeding so easily. 

"I'll love her just as much, if she's a werewolf," Allison states and she stares at Destiny as she says it, as if willing her to know and understand how much she means it.

"Of course you will. I will too. So we'll just -- wait and see?" he shrugs. "If she sprouts fangs while nursing, we'll know right away."

"Don't even joke about that!" Allison practically hisses at him, which makes him laugh. Soon they're both laughing.

Allison finishes feeding her new little one while Stiles digs out a newborn sized diaper and a box of wipes, yet again relieved that Allison had started stocking up long before they left Beacon Hills. He offers to change her, but Allison declines his offer. "You're going to have plenty of time to change diapers. The newness of it will wear off fast, so enjoy the freedom while it lasts," she kids at him. She makes a mess of the first diaper, completely ruining it and Stiles is chuckling when he fetches her another. She finally gets it on the second try, and beams with pride at the accomplishment.

"It took three times last change," Stiles remarks.

"I know, I know and four times before that. I guess this means I'll get it in one next time," Allison pokes her tongue out at him. "Now, I need to go to the bathroom so you can hold her."

"Finally! You've been stingy," Stiles accuses and it's obvious how very much he can't wait to get his hands on her. She vaguely notes he looks healthier than he has in some time as she hands her off and disappears behind the bathroom door, taking a moment to herself. She'd showered when they first arrived back at their room, but she brushes her teeth again and combs her hair, just to feel more put together. She runs a hand over her stomach and though it is much smaller now, it isn't flat again. The baby books had warned her of that, but she'd hoped -- oh well, it will come in time.

She then just stares at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn't said so to Stiles, but she thinks she can see a bit of Scott in Destiny's face. Or maybe she's just seeing things. Her feelings toward Scott are so confused and so ambivalent that even she doesn't know what to make of them. She knows it isn't completely his fault, not really. She'd broken it off with him after all. It wasn't their first break-up either, but she hadn't really expected it to be the last. It wasn't so much that she'd toyed with his feelings as more that she couldn't accept him being in Derek's pack. As far as Allison was concerned, Derek had killed her mother, and there was no getting around that. It felt like Scott had joined ranks with own her personal enemy. She'd thought his defection was temporary, just because of the Alpha pack, but he'd chosen to remain. And still remains. 

The last time she'd been with him, the last time they'd made love, his claws had slipped out in the heat of the moment. It wasn't even that unusual, and though he hadn't hurt her, he'd clearly hurt the condom because she got pregnant; that was the only explanation. 

She couldn't regret ending things because Scott had chosen Derek. Not once did he try to win her back, or even come around. She'd never had to lie to him about her condition. She doubts he ever even knew she was pregnant. And once Stiles had been banished, she knew never to seek him out and tell him.

It bothers her sometimes, what changed with Scott. Why things were different after that last break-up. Why Scott chose Derek over her? Why Scott chose Derek over Stiles? 

Stiles knocking at the bathroom door startles her from her reverie. It's insistent, and she finds herself smiling softly as she reaches for the door. "Is she too much for you already?" she mocks playfully as she opens it, only to see a wide-eyed Stiles holding up a -- furry baby. Oh, the newborn isn't covered in fur, she doesn't look like a wolf pup, but there are sideburns now, as well as tufts of hair on her fingers. 

"I think we have our answer," Stiles murmurs as Allison's arms come up and automatically reach for her baby.

"Oh, Destiny," she whispers and kisses her head. Allison feels a little guilty for the knot in her stomach, the fear and regret over this development, and then her eyes flash to Stiles who is looking at her with more understanding than she probably deserves.

"We can do this. And just look at her. She's still beautiful," he says gently.

Allison's eyes fill with tears and she hugs Destiny close, going back over to the bed. She lays down, putting Destiny beside her so she can look her over more thoroughly. Stiles does the same on her other side, the baby between them again, as they'd been when she first woke them up.

Allison has a good cry, and Stiles lets her, occasionally stroking her arm. Destiny is so unconcerned with all of it, she falls back asleep, and then slowly shifts back into a human form. They tuck a blanket around her, but wonder how much she needs it since werewolves tend to run hotter than humans.

At last, Allison's tears dry up and with them, her resolve returns. She squares her shoulders and steadies her gaze on Stiles. "I can tell you one thing right now."

Stiles looks at her expectantly.

"Tomorrow we're buying bottles. I am _not_ taking a chance with breastfeeding again," Allison informs him.

They both start laughing, and bump heads when they both lean to kiss Destiny at the same time. That makes them laugh harder and she rolls her eyes at Stiles. He rolls too, right off the bed to turn off the lights and then promptly climbs back in. They're well aware they need to get as much sleep as possible before Destiny awakens them again. They also plan to drive as far from Los Angeles as they can come morning.

Allison is just drifting off to sleep when her eyes fly open and she jerks awake, punching Stiles in the shoulder.

"Ow! You're becoming very abusive, I'll have you know," Stiles smarts at her. 

"You never told me her middle name!" Allison reminds him in a low, beseeching tone.

"Oh! You would like to know that, huh?" Stiles replies and she can hear the grin in his voice. He doesn't beleaguer her any longer though, finally divulging his choice.

"Luna. I'd like it to be Luna. Destiny Luna is a perfect name for a perfect little girl. A perfect little werewolf," he shares. 

Allison smiles into the darkness. "Ah, Stiles, what would I do without you?" she asks, approval in every syllable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter going up! The holidays are crazy for everyone! Hopefully it was worth the wait.


	5. {move fast and move smart}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Allison have made their escape, but they have no idea the fallout they've left behind in Beacon Hills. Apparently it's just the kick in the tail that a growing Alpha needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to UpstandingDeliquent for looking over this chapter. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 5  
\- Derek -  
{move fast and move smart}  


_The morning after Allison and Stiles leave Beacon Hills..._

**10:30am**

It's mid-morning in Beacon Hills, fast approaching lunch time, and Derek is attacking what's left of the Hale house with a fury that sent his betas running an hour before. That's fine because he wanted them to go, to leave him alone with his frustration and grief, so it was a wise decision on their part. He's shirtless on the second floor, ripping down charred walls, yanking out frayed wires and kicking in wood, tossing it all into one large pile in the middle with a single-mindedness that borders on madness. His skin is smeared with dirt, ash and sweat, but he reeks mostly of regret and pain.

He smells Peter long before he reaches him, such a familiar scent that it doesn't even require conscious thought. That's probably why Peter manages to get within shouting distance before Derek acknowledges him outwardly. "Get away from me." He doesn't shout the words, and he continues tearing down his childhood home.

"While finally doing something about this monstrosity is probably healthy, this isn't at all the most mature way to handle their leaving," Peter answers, as if completely unfazed by the sullen, heavy anger in Derek's tone.

Derek tosses a rather large section of house at Peter, who merely jumps out of the way with werewolf speed. "Get. Away. From. Me." If possible, Derek sounds even more livid, his words tight as if spoken through clenched teeth.

Peter tsks at him. "So your solution is to renovate? No big plans to go after them?"

At that taunt, Derek jumps down a floor and races toward Peter, barreling into his body with great strength, sending them both rolling. "If you hadn't warned me off, if I had just gone to talk to Stiles while you were meeting Argent last night, this could have been avoided," he seethes at him, bringing back a fist to punch his uncle.

Peter deflects it with his arm, but they can both hear radius and ulna bone crashing together. Peter only winces slightly at the pain, glad it missed his face. "Down, boy," he admonishes Derek. "You were taught better than this, not to hit when expressing yourself. But if I let you beat the shit out of me, will you be calm enough for conversation? Or can we stop wasting precious time?" he asks before Derek can land another blow.

Derek hauls himself off of Peter, taking several steps back, though his fingers sport claws and he looks as if he's barely controlling himself. "Do you have information about their whereabouts?"

"Their scent is growing cold as we speak," Peter points out.

Derek growls at him. "Their scent dies two towns over. Do you think I didn't follow it?" he demands angrily. "Do you think I haven't already tried to trail them?"

Peter merely lifts a brow, and bares his neck in submission, and Derek knows he's simply trying to mollify him. It works, at least slightly. "Honestly nephew, you really should start sharing information. Tell me what you already know and I'll share my ideas. I've talked to Argent."

And just like that, Derek collapses where he stands, falling to his ass, his legs crossing in front of him. He's fairly vibrating with the effort to check himself, but seemingly ignores Peter when he moves to sit as well. "Stiles' jeep stopped at the bridge. And I followed him from there. Ran full out after the scent of its exhaust. Two towns away, they stopped at a super-center. They went inside, and then nothing. There was a strange scent where their jeep was parked, as strong as his and Allison's, but nothing more after that. It was sunrise by the time I finished looking." He doesn't tell Peter, but he'd gone to Stiles' bedroom window the night before despite the fact his uncle had suggested he stay away, only to find Stiles' bed empty. He'd slipped inside, but there was only the faintest trace of warmth on the sheets. 

At the time, Derek knew Stiles could have easily been spending the night at Allison's house, but his instincts warned him something was wrong. He had searched his room, finding drawers empty. It was then he began following the Jeep's trail - until it died. "What did Argent say?"

"Based on evidence at his house, they've been planning this," Peter shares, stretching his broken arm now that it's healed.

Derek snorts. "Of course they have."

"Argent and the Sheriff have both put their own unique skill sets into motion, but not a sign of them so far," Peter goes on, tilting his head at Derek. "The Sheriff allowed Chris into his home with one of his deputies. Stiles left his laptop."

Derek snorts again; this isn't news. He'd seen it on his desk when he'd searched it. "Then he wiped it."

Peter's eyes narrow. "You have been in his room already. I suppose you went to talk to him against my advice."

"If I hadn't hesitated, if I had gone sooner --," Derek begins, anger building all over again.

Peter cuts him off. "You'd have changed nothing!"

That gives Derek pause and he studies his uncle with a frown. "I would have apologized. Verbally. I would have told him I made a mistake."

Peter snorts this time, sounding very similar to Derek. "And you think that would have fixed it? Granted, hearing you say you're sorry is a feat, and someone that has known you your entire life would have been impressed, but not Stiles."

"Stiles likes words," Derek grits out.

"No, he doesn't," Peter shakes his head. "My God, Derek, do you even know him? Do you mean to tell me that you don't even realize he uses words almost the same way you _don't_ use words? Were you so blinded by your attraction to him that you didn't get to know the real him?"

Derek tenses, guilt stabbing behind his eyes, and he can't find a way to reply beyond punching Peter again. He fists his hands on his thighs and tries to resist the urge.

"Stiles _uses_ words. He deflects with them, he makes jokes with them, but when it comes to all things serious, Stiles likes action. And if you think going to him last night and telling him you're sorry would have made one bit of difference, you don't know him at all," Peter finishes because he thinks Derek needs to hear it.

"I do know Stiles," Derek closes his eyes. "I could pick him out from a crowd by his scent alone. I know the sound of his heartbeat. I know he washes his jeep twice a week. I know he visits his mother's grave once every two weeks, and he brings flowers every time. I know --," he stops, as if he just can't voice his feelings or his thoughts any further.

"It took his leaving for you to realize how much you care," Peter surmises, and there is neither approval nor censure in his tone.

"He's a teenager. I was not going to -- I would not take advantage of that," Derek opens his eyes and levels them on his uncle. He refuses to speak of Kate, but he has his reasons for keeping Stiles at arm's length.

"You always had the best control. From the time you were a child, you had better restraint than any of the other young ones in our pack, and even better than some of the teens. Could you really not bridle your desire to fuck him? Was it so bad you had to kick him out of the pack?" Peter's tone is frank.

"Screw. You," Derek bites out for a second time and launches himself at Peter again. This time he hits his jaw and then his cheek, drawing blood, but Peter doesn't strike back. He wants a fight, yearns for one yet Peter just peers at him with features set in a neutral mask. Derek shoves him away in disgust, stalking a few yards away. Part of him _wanted_ Peter to attack him and hurt him. "Do you think I don't realize how badly I've messed it all up?!" Derek rages at him so loudly it practically reverberates through the trees and into the ground.

Peter rubs his jaw and he gets to his feet again. "So we need a plan to find them. Or -- we can just let them go. But I warn you. Argent is worried sick. He's going to hunt them."

Derek bristles, and if he were shifted to wolf form, his hackles would be standing up.

"No, no, not like that!" Peter quickly corrects the misconception. "He has no interest in harming that baby or Allison. He had every intention of integrating them into our pack. He knows how dangerous it is out there for them though. He wants them safe."

Derek visibly relaxes, as much as he can as angry and worried as he is in that moment. "Every pack out there that they come across is going to come after them," he laments. And it's his own fault. All his anger is actually at himself. 

Peter nods. "It's hard to say which is best for them. If the baby is born human, their illness will still draw attention. If the baby is werewolf, three is enough to form a pack. They'll be well, but a werewolf baby is going to be a beacon. And every pack's gonna want it."

Derek groans, putting his hands over his face a long moment. He'd beat himself silly if he thought it would do any good. "We have to find them soon."

"We have to make a plan," Peter agrees.

"I _have_ a plan. I was making it as I tore down the house," Derek informs him, eyes hard and shoulders set as he locks eyes with Peter. "You might have more experience than me by age alone, but you need to stop underestimating your Alpha." His eyes flash red as he speaks, and Peter steps back, bowing his head.

Appeased for the moment, Derek continues. "I want you to arrange for the pack to meet here at five."

"You're going to work on _that_ in the meantime?" Peter scoffs, nodding at the charred rubble.

Derek gives him a warning growl. "I have an appointment myself soon. _In the meantime_ , check back in with Argent and find out what he's learned, if anything. Tell him I want to meet with him later tonight."

Peter actually looks a little impressed, but Derek finds no pride in it. He really can't stomach the discussion any longer so once Peter leaves, he returns to what he was doing - at least until his own meeting.

*************

**1pm**

Derek has vented most of his aggression on a house that was already crumbling. Considering it was mostly self-targeted, all that's really left now is guilt and determination. He'd thought that finding out Allison was pregnant and that both Allison and Stiles were ill because of his own ignorance the day before was an eye-opener, but it was nothing compared to this. It hadn't crossed his mind that Stiles would up and leave Beacon Hills, but it should have. 

He feels as if a bitter wind swept through his head when Stiles left, and cleared it of cobwebs. And all those compartments he'd been hoarding, that he thought had been blown wide open, they were good and gone now. He didn't have the luxury of compartmentalizing his life, not if he wanted to help Stiles and Allison. And his feelings for Stiles? He could face them and he would because Stiles didn't deserve him hiding them as if they were shameful. Of everything Peter had said to him, that had hurt the most because it had hit home the hardest -- how could he have let his sexual attraction to Stiles make him act so blindly? He could have suppressed it, until Stiles was older at least, if only he'd known what destruction was ahead.

Because that is at the painful core of all this -- Stiles and Allison are in mortal danger. And it is his own fucking fault.

He'd lost his family, and it had been his fault too. At least this is something he could actually repair, and he won't give up until he manages it - or dies trying.

It's a very sober, clear-headed Derek that sits down across from the Sheriff in the Stilinski kitchen. He's sniffed the air, and noted that the man across from him is decidedly sober in an entirely different way. He's greatly relieved by that; he doesn't want to have this discussion with a drunken human. "I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me away from the station. Actually, I appreciate your agreeing to meet with me at all." There's true gratitude in his tone. If it's within his abilities, he wants to return this man's son to him, safe and well.

The Sheriff looks at him dubiously, even as he slides a cup of coffee toward him. "If you have anything you can tell me about my son, then I'm all ears," the older man replies cautiously. Derek can smell his tension and distrust, but he can also smell his worry.

"You're going to have a hard time believing a word I say. One, because you've arrested me once. And two, because it's going to sound unbelievable," Derek reveals.

Stiles' father taps the side of his coffee cup before he speaks. "I was a deputy, when your home burned. I saw you and Laura when they told you what happened. I watched the pair of you come together in grief." He clears his throat and nods sharply. "Once we identified that body as your sister, I would have laid money you were innocent."

Derek swallows thickly, upset at the very reference to the fire, but also somewhat touched by the Sheriff's belief in his innocence. Later, he'll replay those words in his mind many times, turn them over, examine them and find some small comfort in them, but now is not the time. "I'm still not someone you'd want to associate with your son."

The Sheriff's jaw visibly ticks. "That's according to what you mean by _associate_ , given your age difference." His eyes are clearly asking Derek for a better definition.

"We were not -- not dating. We were not -- no. Anything. Which is probably a big part of the problem," Derek stammers, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Eyes narrow across the table. "Are you telling me my son ran away because you wouldn't date him?" the Sheriff sounds incredulous.

"Not exactly. No. Not that at all. He -- I should start at the beginning," Derek sighs. He is not good with words. Some might blame the fire for that, but truthfully, he's never been one for conversation. He was quiet in school, reserved even, content to run alone or with his pack. He liked solitary activities, reading and swimming, until Kate Argent had ruined swimming for him completely. He closes his eyes a long moment, refusing to think about that bitch. His thoughts need to focus on Stiles.

"If you need to start at the beginning, I'm all for that. Just start talking," the Sheriff warns.

Derek's eyes snap open and he nods. "Stiles has been lying to you. He was trying to protect Scott. And then later me as well," he begins.

The Sheriff squints at him. "Scott? He's involved in this? But -- is this why they stopped talking?"

Derek sighs, bites his bottom lip and then nods. "I'm not good with words, Sheriff. Let me -- talk?"

Apparently the Sheriff understands and nods, falling silent, his mouth compressed as if to remind himself to remain quiet.

"The night you found my sister's body, when you found Stiles in the forest? He was with Scott. When Scott was left alone, he was bitten. He was bitten by a werewolf."

The Sheriff scoots his chair back abruptly and pushes to his feet. "I don't have time for this shit," he shouts. "Do you think this is a joke to me? Get out."

"I warned you it was unbelievable. Just let me show you? I didn't bite Scott, but I'm a werewolf too." He doesn't wait on permission because forging a relationship with Stiles' father is critical to Derek. Now more than ever. He wishes he'd done this a long time ago. He should have done this instead of banishing Stiles from the pack. He easily shifts into his beta form and before he can frighten the Sheriff too terribly shifts back.

He watches the Sheriff sink back into his chair heavily, his breath leaving in a gust. "Holy shit." He stands again and then sits again. "I was about to say that this calls for something stronger than coffee, but I poured out every bottle in the house this morning." He then looks startled, as if he hadn't meant to confess that.

Derek stares at him. He can hear the sincerity in that admission, but he can also hear stress. "Are you an alcoholic?" he asks carefully. "I know Stiles was upset over your drinking."

"I -- probably yes," the Sheriff frowns. "Stiles talked to you about my drinking?"

"It's not my place to tell you what to do, but -- he needs you sober, when we get him back," Derek murmurs, extremely uncomfortable with the topic. Still, his priority is Stiles' well-being and that includes his father's.

The Sheriff is still frowning. "Like I said, I poured out every bottle in the house. I plan on dealing with it, but I'm a lot more interested in what you can tell me right now. You say Scott's a werewolf too?"

Derek nods, letting the matter drop temporarily. "His mother knows. The night the Sheriff's department was attacked, she saw him shift."

This apparently lends great credence to his story, since the Sheriff can verify with Melissa McCall, so he relaxes his listening stance and motions at Derek to go on.

"I was born a werewolf. My family was targeted by Hunters the night of the fire because we were a werewolf pack. Some of us were human though, and none of us had ever hurt any human that didn't try to hurt us first. Most Hunters have a code to not kill innocent werewolves, but some break the code. The Argents are Hunters," Derek details.

"Scott was dating the Argent's daughter!"

Derek nods, mouth tightening. "I was opposed to their seeing each other for obvious reasons."

The Sheriff looks as if he's trying to put all the pieces together. "Wait, is my son a --"

Derek cuts him off with a negative head shake. "Absolutely not. He didn't want to be a werewolf. As the Alpha, I would be the only one able to change him and I wouldn't have done so against his will."

"If that's true, then who bit Scott?"

The Sheriff, he is as smart as his son, Derek notes. "That would have been my Uncle Peter," he answers honestly. He'd promised himself to be as honest as possible during this conversation. "He was in a coma for all those years, but slowly, so slowly, he healed. That's not really important to this now, so I'd like to save that tale for later."

The Sheriff simply nods.

"Like I said, werewolf packs have human members," Derek starts again, but the man across from him holds up his hand.

"I want to know who is in your pack. Who has been running around all this time hiding that they're a werewolf?" the Sheriff demands.

Derek sighs, squeezing his coffee cup harder than intended and it shatters. "Damn. Sorry," he murmurs, his fingers cut by the fragments. They heal immediately of course and he looks up to see Mr. Stilinski staring at the healing process with wonder. Derek simply stands and brings over the roll of paper-towels, to begin wiping up his mess.

"We have the ability to heal fast, as well as heightened senses. We have supernatural hearing and scent. We can move incredibly fast in either form and we can see at night," Derek lists as he cleans.

"Then why aren't you out there tracking down Stiles?!" The man sounds like such a concerned father just then that it makes Derek miss his own. He pushes it down.

"I've already followed his scent as far as I could. It's a dead end in Clemon. They went into the super-center there, and then nothing. I went over the entire parking lot." Derek sounds miserable that he doesn't have better news.

"I'll get my officers on it, checking receipts and cameras," the Sheriff replies, already dialing his cell phone.

Derek finishes up his task while Mr. Stilinski is talking, tossing the cup and paper-towels in the trash and resettling into his seat. "I owe you a cup," he murmurs as soon as the other man hangs up. "You have to understand, as Alpha, it's my job to protect my pack. I can't simply hand them over to you like that."

The Sheriff grunts at him. "Sounds to me like Stiles is a part of that pack and you should be more worried about his safety."

Derek pales, and his stomach twists painfully. "That's part of the problem. I kicked Stiles out of the pack in a misguided attempt to protect him," he confesses, his voice harsh with self-condemnation. 

He looks over to see the Sheriff has crossed his arms. "Go on."

"He can't heal like we can! But he wanted to help us fight every stray wolf or witch that came into town, with no regard to his personal safety. He was always getting bruised and bloody," Derek rants, his fear for Stiles evident in his tone. "And his bruises lingered, like a constant reminder that he'd been hurt, for us. When we should have better protected him."

The Sheriff is looking at him with a weird expression on his face, half-understanding and half-horror. Derek thinks it's because the other man witnessed those bumps and bruises too many times.

"I banished him from the pack, and told my betas to leave him alone, to let him be a normal teenager. Scott -- he saw my point and didn't argue with me over it. I think -- I think he was so focused on Allison at the time... It doesn't matter. I convinced Scott that if he really loved Stiles like a brother, then he'd leave him alone. And I advised him to stay away from her too, if he really cared about her well-being." Derek's words are spilling out unheeded. He needs to make the Sheriff see that it was more than just wanting Stiles, more than just his feelings for him. At least this part of it the other man can understand.

He looks up to find the Sheriff's eyes are mournful, and Derek doesn't know what to make of it, not until the other man speaks. "You're in love with my son."

Derek's breath hitches so sharply, the sound hisses through his teeth. He tries to answer, but can't get any words past his throat. He's never allowed those words, even in his thoughts, but Stiles' father states them so simply that he can't easily deny it. He jerks his head in what estimates a sharp, single nod. He'd warned himself before coming here that he had to communicate effectively, he had to use words, and so he forces himself to speak. "He has no idea."

The Sheriff clucks at him; it's a noise he'd heard from his grandparents, not that the man in front of him is nearly that old. "I doubt that," he murmurs, but doesn't linger on it. "So you're telling me that Stiles and Allison left town because they were kicked out of your pack?"

Derek starts to nod, but remembers he needs to verbalize. "There's more." He tells him about their illness and also about Allison's pregnancy. He doesn't mean to explain about Peter, about the kanima or about the Alpha pack, but all that comes out as well. He even shares how Scott had resisted joining his pack for so long. 

When he's exhausted himself talking, the Sheriff lets out a long, low whistle. "I would rather work with you than against you," the older man finally tells him.

Derek feels a swell of gratitude. "Same, sir. I want to find them and bring them home. I can keep them safe."

"Let's hope you get a second chance to do that."

Derek winces at the reminder. He's already failed them once.

*****

**5pm**

Derek had told the Sheriff about his meeting with the pack tonight, but hadn't invited him. He did express his intention to have him attend some future meetings, and Stiles' father seemed to accept that. Besides, the Sheriff had plans to return to the Station and follow up any leads garnered from the store Derek had last scented them, and that was more important at the moment than letting him get a glimpse of the Hale pack.

Now, Derek is standing in the area in front of the Hale house, taking in what he'd accomplished that morning. He plans to finish it as time allows, but his current focus is the betas that have gathered around him. They're nervous, hyper-aware of his rampage that morning, fearful of what to expect from him now -- Derek can smell it. He gives them his completely attention. "Why don't we all sit?" he suggests. "Make a circle," he adds, moving to stand between Peter and Scott. Once they've all settled, he pulls a surviving chair off the porch and sits in the same spot he'd been in.

Words. He needs to use them again, and use them well. He's gotten a crash course on discourse today, but it doesn't feel any more comfortable. It's not as if he doesn't talk to his betas, but he's not one for speeches, and he doesn't discuss things like feelings and motivations. Not that long ago, he would have said he didn't have time for such sentiment, but Stiles leaving has changed a lot of things for him in a very short period of time.

He looks around the circle, noting that Jackson and Lydia have placed themselves apart from everyone else. In fact, Lydia is filing her nails. Peter sits on one side, looking relaxed and expectantly at Derek, placing himself in such a way as if to appear second in command. Isaac and Scott sit close on his other side, both nervous, though Scott is especially agitated. 

It's Scott that speaks before he can begin. "I thought you said they'd be safer if we kept them out of things," he accuses. "Stiles is going to fail this year!"

Peter rolls his eyes at him. "I think finishing the 11th grade is the least of his problems."

Derek frowns at them both.

"What does _he_ mean?" Lydia never calls Peter by name, never even looks at him if she can help it. "What's worse than failing an entire year of school?" There's an edge to her question though, as if she already knows the answer.

"I made a mistake, when I banished Stiles from the pack," Derek voices with much effort, but also with much candor. "I've made a lot of mistakes since I became Alpha, granted I wasn't ever trained for the position, but this one is probably my worst. We need to correct it." He eyeballs everyone in the circle. "And I mean _we_. We aren't the most cohesive pack, and that needs to change right now."

Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and looks at each other, as if to put the blame elsewhere. Derek wants to shake them all.

"You're all at fault. Let's start with Jackson. And Lydia. You both still keep yourself apart from the pack. You show up to meetings when it suits you, and act as if you're doing all of us a favor when you do. Jackson, you spend more time posturing for Lydia than training."

Jackson looks guilty, but Lydia looks angry. "How dare you?" she asks him, almost conversationally. "Why in the world would I invest myself in this pack when I've seen what you do to human members? You could decide I'm no longer useful anytime, just like you did with Stiles, and I'm sorry, but no. Jackson and I are going off to college as soon as we graduate, thank you very much."

"I never had any intention of asking you to leave the pack," Derek begins, but she harumphs at him.

"And you expect me to believe that? Stiles actually gave a damn about all this pack-building shit and it didn't do him any good," Lydia throws her ginger hair back off her shoulder.

"Stiles was a different case altogether and like I said, it was a mistake. I want him back and in the pack. As well as Allison. You and Jackson are important members, but you both need to really commit to it. And I need you to help me find them," Derek states plainly.

Lydia likes being needed, and he's hoping that will sway her. Jackson has deferred to her since the kanima incident so Derek's content to let the pair whisper to each other a long moment (as if he can't hear every word!), while he looks at Peter. "You need to find a way to make amends for what you did to Lydia. I don't expect you two to trust each other, but as far as I know, you've done nothing to mend that rift."

That shuts up the whispering immediately, and Lydia stares at Derek. "I want nothing to do with him."

"I know you're human, but Jackson is not. How well do you think he'll fare without a pack? The only time I _can_ count on you two coming around is full moons. And why is that? Because Jackson needs the pack for control."

Lydia frowns, and turns back to her whispering with Jackson. He's pleased to hear Jackson arguing to stay in the pack when Peter clears his throat. The couple ignore him, but Derek looks at his uncle.

"I will figure something out, _if_ they don't break away," Peter nods to the duo. "Maybe even if they do." He smirks at Derek, who really has no patience for Peter's madness, so he moves on.

"Isaac, the only person you seem to trust any more is Scott. You need to trust your Alpha," Derek states clearly. "If you want to argue that I've just admitted to making mistakes, then I'd be happy to list all the mistakes that Scott has made."

Isaac looks sheepish at that, but Scott growls softly; it makes Derek want to slap the back of his head.

"The point is, Stiles and Allison are in danger. They need help."

"They probably don't want our help," Lydia interjects. "Honestly, have any of you noticed how lonely Stiles was after we all stopped talking to him? You think he'll want our help after that kind of rejection?" She's shaking her head no at her own words. 

Damn, but that hits hard, and Derek almost wants to rub his chest, like his heart is hurting inside his ribs. He resists making the movement. "We treated him -- _**I**_ treated him -- unfairly. He may not ever want anything to do with any of us, but they're still in very real danger, and I'm not willing to leave them hanging out there like that."

He clears his throat before continuing. 

"There's something else I need to tell you. Scott, I only found this out yesterday, so try and remain calm. And I'm sorry to tell you in the group, but if it will help keep you subdued, then fuck it, that's what I'm going to have to do," Derek sighs. He nods to Peter who moves to restrain Scott if necessary. 

"What are you talking about?" the beta asks in confusion, and Scott is so focused on Derek he doesn't notice Peter.

Peter reaches for Scott's arms, gripping them firmly behind his back. Scott immediately fights the hold, but Peter tightens his grasp, not painfully, but decidedly.

There's no easy way to break this new, no way to ease in and no way to cushion the blow, so Derek is blunt, like ripping off a bandage. "Allison is pregnant. With your child. Every pack they come across is going to want to get their hands on that baby," Derek announces softly, wincing at the pain he knows it will cause Scott. When he'd told Scott that they were brothers now, back when Scott had first been bitten, he'd meant it. He considers his pack family, everyone in the circle (and Stiles and Allison as well though he realized almost too late), but he's done a poor job of showing it and it's glaringly obvious right now. It sickens him that Stiles had to leave for him to realize how poorly he was treating everyone all in the name of protecting himself from further pain through attachments.

He's distracted from addressing that subject when Scott turns feral. Isaac has to move to help Peter restrain him when Scott shifts, making him much more dangerous. Derek has to pull out his Alpha roar, eyes blazing red to subdue him.

Scott falls to his knees, Peter and Isaac still holding him before becoming human again, but his eyes are still wild. "You have to calm down so we can make a plan, Scott. Do you hear me? Allison needs all of us, if she and her baby are going to be safe. Can you do that? Can you keep it under control?"

"Her baby?! It's my baby too!" Scott manages to verbalize and Derek growls at him, less forceful but no less alpha.

"I don't suggest you ever say anything remotely like that within her hearing if you ever want anything to do with the baby or her!" Lydia yells at him. "Oh my God, Scott, don't be so stupid. You just found out about this baby and you're claiming rights? Are you really that fucking dense?"

Scott snaps his teeth at her, and Derek roars again.

"You might not like hearing it, but she's right, Scott. You haven't been around at all," Derek shouts at the still-struggling beta. "Stiles is the one that has been there for her." It might upset Scott more, but he needs to deal with it.

"It's your fault! How can you say that to me when it's your fucking fault we broke up!" Scott sounds enraged.

Derek crosses his arms and frowns. "She broke up with you. She. Broke. It. Off. With.You. And when you came to me for advice, remember -- you came to me? I told you my honest opinion. That it would never work out between a werewolf and a hunter. Not just a hunter, but the Argent leader. And I was trying to protect them. Both of them!" He's shouting by the time he finishes.

"You're a fucking liar. You were trying to protect yourself," Scott howls.

Peter yanks painfully on Scott's arms, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk, Scott. You're acting like a child instead of a man about to have one. Derek was trying to protect the entire pack as well as you. In case you've forgotten, the Argents killed our entire family," he murmurs at Scott's ear.

"Allison was innocent!" Scott defends her.

"I'm sorry to say this, but Allison shot me with arrows and stabbed me, Scott. She's not blameless," Isaac whispers quietly. For all his usual reserve, it makes his soft words all the more weighty when he does speak. "You tend to be hugely biased when it comes to her."

"You want to track them down for revenge?!" Scott accuses, looking at both Isaac and Derek. 

"Would you listen!" Derek orders with a shout, and Scott clamps his mouth shut. "This isn't about revenge. I had reservations about Allison, for good reason, but when I saw them yesterday -- when I smelled she was carrying a pack child -- she smells like pack, Scott. Irrefutably pack and she will to every one of you too if you get the opportunity to be near her. Every one of us will want to protect her and that baby, but we have to find them first!"

For the first time since hearing the news, Scott appears to calm, and Derek hopes he's finally gotten through his thick skull that this isn't about him, not now, not really.

"You two can talk, work something out, but first we have to make sure that they're safe," Derek adds, and when Scott hangs his head, the alpha wants to sigh. He listens to his heartbeat and it's racing, but the fight seems to have gone out of him.

He finally nods to Peter and Isaac to let him go. They obey immediately, stepping away while Derek moves closer to offer some kind of peaceful assurance, maybe a pat on the shoulder or even a hug. Before he can, Scott spins on his heel and turns away, taking off at a full out run.

"Should I go after him?" Peter asks, sounding bored, but Derek shakes his head. 

"Let him run it off. He'll listen better when he's calmer," Derek replies.

Lydia sits up straighter, if possible, and smooths a hand over her skirt. "Stiles probably considers that baby his by now, no matter who donated the sperm."

The idea of it twists in Derek's gut, not that he hasn't already considered it. He jerks an acknowledging nod at her. "He'd have a good case."

"Only Stiles would take on the responsibility of someone else's kid, no questions asked," Jackson snorts. "So other packs are gonna want this kid even if it's human?"

Derek explains their illness, and how they're targets either way. "If it's a born werewolf, I can't even tell you how much packs will want it."

"Enough to hurt them, then?" Isaac asks.

"Some packs will try to absorb them into their pack, but most of them will just take it, try to steal the child away or at worst, kill them for it," Derek explains starkly.

"God, what a mess," Isaac sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Derek pales slightly, and nods. "Now you all know just how badly I screwed up. And why it's so important we find them as soon as we can. We can protect them."

"Why would they trust us to protect them? They're just going to think we're after the baby too, especially if they've already been attacked by the time we track them down." Lydia speaks without expecting a reply. She nods to herself without waiting on anyone else to speak. "We need to move fast."

Derek looks at her gratefully. "Move fast and move smart."

"Yeah, Stiles is clever. He won't be easy to find if he doesn't want to be," Isaac voices.

"He left his laptop, so I know there's nothing on it that's gonna help us. He'd have wiped it," Derek notes.

Jackson raises his hand, as if in a classroom. Derek is a little confused by the way Jackson occasionally reverts to his kanima instinct, as if still serving a master, but nods to him instead of addressing the issue just now. They have more than enough on their plate already.

"He might not have wiped it well enough. My friend Danny might be able to find something," Jackson speaks.

Lydia looks at her boyfriend a long moment. "Danny might know something. He hasn't been talking to us much. I just thought he had a new boyfriend distracting him..."

Derek's eyes narrow. "I've met Danny. He helped me and Stiles track Scott's phone. Why do you think he'd know anything?"

"He's the go to guy at school for fake ids," Jackson answers. "And he's a hacker."

"I want to talk to Danny. Tonight." Derek's tone brooks no argument.

"I'll text him right now," Jackson offers, pulling out his cell phone.

Isaac clears his throat. "I -- I don't think we should force them to join our pack. We should welcome them, but only if they want. I think we should explain the situation and let them choose us or -- ," he trails off. 

"I have no intention of forcing them," Derek assures him, face open enough to show his pack a rare glimpse of vulnerability in the form of guilt and more than a few other emotions not so easy to pinpoint. "I know I have a lot to make up for."

Lydia scoffs. "We don't have time for that shit right now. Seriously. We need to figure out the best guess for their upcoming movements, in case Danny doesn't know anything. Or isn't willing to share. How far along is she?"

Peter speaks up. "About six and half months."

Lydia doesn't look at him, but she nods to show that she heard him. "Once they left here, they probably dumped the jeep. Their next priority is where to have the baby. I imagine they'll stay on the road a lot at first, but then nest somewhere."

Derek has the urge to hug Lydia, not only for using her brain to help, but also for the willingness to do so. He manfully resists, knowing they're not nearly close enough for her to welcome any kind of embrace, even one of gratitude. It's just another reminder that his pack is not nearly cohesive enough, but he's resolved that is going to change.

"Where do you think they'd nest?" Derek prompts her to continue.

Lydia looks up at the sky a long moment as she contemplates all the scenarios. "If it were me, I'd go to a big city, some place that's easy to get lost in. Some place just another teen mom wouldn't be noticed." She settles her gaze back on Derek. "If we haven't found them by her due date, we should have Danny set up a program to detect OB admissions without insurance at hospitals in the bigger cities."

"Stiles always said you were genius," Derek actually smiles softly. It's brief, but it was there.

Lydia preens at his approval before stopping herself. She flashes a quick smile in return, and then is all business again. "He's no dummy. He's going to hide their tracks as much as possible."

Derek nods gravely at that. "Yeah, but he can't cover his scent." He just has to hope that they can get that close again.

*****

**10:45pm**

Danny didn't answer any of Jackson's texts - not a single reply, even hours later. It was suspicious enough that Derek felt certain he was hiding information. Too bad for Danny, because Derek needed it, and there was no where to hide from werewolves in their own territory.

In the end, Derek didn't bother tracking him, merely waited outside the human's bedroom until he returned from where ever he had spent the evening. 

In the hours since the pack meeting, Derek had had a brief conversation on the phone with the Sheriff again, warned him to be on the look out for Scott and then exchanged updates on information. Neither had anything concrete to speak of, but they made plans to speak again first thing in the morning - or before if something came up. The Sheriff sounded solid and genuine, and Derek realized they had, in less than a day, formed a stable partnership when it came to finding Stiles.

Derek had also met with Chris Argent, and the man was frantic. Unlike the Sheriff, as a Hunter, he knew exactly what Stiles and Allison were up against, and was willing to work with Derek out of pure necessity. It was an uneasy truce, but they'd made one.

Not even twenty-four hours since Stiles and Allison left Beacon Hills, Derek had found himself and his pack in two new alliances, neither of which he'd ever anticipated would be possible. Sure, Stiles had once mentioned he should try to work out a truce with Argent, and maybe be more open with the local law enforcement, but Derek had ignored the suggestions. By then, he was already trying to push Stiles away, and that included the human's ideas for the pack.

He'd also noticed that by the end of the pack meeting that his pack, excepting Scott, was actually banding together on this, all willing and anxious to help. He found it ironic that Stiles had managed more pack improvements by leaving than Derek had since returning to Beacon Hills well over a year before. The pack was bonding, and Derek had made allies outside the pack but within his own territory. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd listened to Stiles and valued his opinion more, if this wouldn't have all developed in a less emergent situation months before. 

He feels like such a fool.

And he will gladly tell Stiles so, and let Stiles agree with him, chew him out for it even, maybe throw several punches, if he can just find him. He hears Danny enter his bedroom and close the door, and after making sure the teen is alone, he enters silently through the window. He just manages to get a hand over Danny's mouth before he can emit a yelp of surprise.

"I don't want to hurt you, and I won't hurt you, if you'll simply tell me what you know about Stiles' whereabouts," Derek murmurs at his ear. "If you call out, your family could be in danger and you don't want that. If I remove my hand, are you going to scream?"

Danny shakes his head, but his heart rate is frantic. Derek eases a hand away, and Danny uses the opportunity not to yell but to throw back an elbow, hard, into Derek's stomach. Derek snorts, and in one fluid motion, has Danny's cheek pressed against the nearest wall, his wrists clasped behind his back, between a strong werewolf hand. "You can't fight your way out of this so talk, and I'll go on my way."

Danny doesn't reply. 

"This isn't going to end any other way than me getting the information that I want. And when I'm done, I'm passing you on to Stiles' father. You know who he is? The Sheriff. Who is going to be really interested in all the fake IDs you've been making for the Beacon Hills' student body."

"I think I'd be fine with you calling the Sheriff right now," Danny finally answers stiffly.

Derek has to admit, he admires this guy's loyalty to Stiles, but he can tell by his pounding heart that he knows something. "Stiles and Allison are in serious danger. If you know something, you'll be helping them if you share it. They don't even realize what they're up against."

Danny barks a laugh. "Of course you'd say that. _Miguel_. You'd say anything, but if they're gone, that's their choice, their decision and they must think it's the right one."

"You're a brave kid, and I appreciate that. I can smell how scared you really are, but you're not listening to me, and I don't have time for this. People are going to be after them. They need protection," Derek barks at him.

Danny purses his lips together.

"You don't know me --," Derek begins again, but is interrupted when Danny tries to headbutt him.

"I know your name isn't Miguel," Danny snaps angrily when he fails to do more than annoy the werewolf. "I know you're dangerous."

"Not to Stiles and not to Allison. You have no clue how safe those two would be with me right now. But it's a whole lot safer than you are currently," Derek grits out, losing patience fast. He doesn't react when Jackson crawls into the window.

"Please, Danny. And you know I never say please. Tell us how to find them. You _know_ me, I'm not going to hurt them," Jackson urges stepping into Danny's line of sight. 

Danny glares at Jackson. "Like you're not letting this asshole hurt me? Like you never tried to fucking kill me?!"

Derek huffs out a breath, and Jackson's face visibly falls. "Just how much do you know, Danny boy?" Derek finally asks, voice suddenly almost formal.

"Enough to know I'd rather talk to the Sheriff than either of you," Danny answers, closing his eyes.

"Did Stiles also tell you that Allison is pregnant? With Scott's baby? That they're going to be hunted down because of it?" Jackson asks urgently. "Because we're pretty sure Stiles doesn't even realize that. They're practically bait out there."

Derek hears a blip in Danny's heartbeat, and wants to press his advantage, but decides to let the teens talk it out instead. Jackson is making Danny listen at least. "I'll let you go if you will just sit here and talk to us?" Derek offers, letting up on his hold. It's not as if Danny can get away from Derek, much less two werewolves in his space.

Once free, Danny slides along with his back to the wall, keeping an eye on the werewolves, all the way to the most distant corner of his room, putting as much of a gap between himself and the other two as he can. He looks at them warily and without a single grain of trust. 

Not that Derek blames Danny, but still, he'd really like to eventually move beyond threatening teenagers. Today isn't that day though, because Stiles and Allison are in danger and he doesn't have time for niceties.

"Danny, we're not the bad guys," Jackson tries again.

"Neither is Stiles!"

"He could be killed if you don't tell us," Derek growls, losing all patience again fast. "And you're just putting your family in danger with _me_ at this point." There's a threat in his tone as much as the words themselves.

At that, Danny deflates. "Look, I can't help you. I honestly can't. I might have given them some fake IDs, but I also gave Stiles other contacts. He's probably not stupid enough to use the ones I gave him," Danny replies quickly, and there's no tell-tale sign of dishonesty. Sadly, if it comes down to his family or Stiles, Danny is going to protect his family, and Derek was counting on that fact.

Derek strides over to Danny's desk, tearing a piece of paper out of a spiral and shoving it at Danny. "Write down the fake names you gave them, and the other contacts," he instructs Danny.

Danny swallows hard, guiltily, but he does it.

Derek can tell how much it costs him to pen those things to paper, and he sighs. "Stiles told you everything, didn't he?"

Danny looks mutinous a moment, but then glances at his bedroom door before looking back at Derek. He nods, just once. "Are you -- going to bite me?"

Derek arches a brow. "You don't want to be bitten."

Danny's eyes widen and he shakes his head negative. "No!"

"Then of course I'm not going to bite you. But if you want to join my pack, we accept human members," Derek offers. "Jackson and Lydia trust you." 

Danny's eyes narrow. "What the hell...?"

"I could have seriously hurt you and you didn't give Stiles up; I had to threaten your family. You're smart, half my pack already trusts you as a friend, and you've got balls," Derek replies. Danny only caved to the threat to his family, and Derek can respect that.

Danny looks as if Derek has just knocked the all the air out of his lungs. His head bobs side to side a couple of times, like it's full of weight pulling him down -- more like heavy thoughts. His eyes jerk to Derek. "You had no intention of hurting my family."

Derek nods in confession. "I had no intention of hurting your family," he agrees, now that he has the list in hand. "But I was serious about the Sheriff. If you're not voluntarily sitting in his office by eight am tomorrow, he'll be showing up with cuffs and questions."

Danny inhales sharp and quick, wrapping his arms around his waist. "I thought you were going to kill my family," he breathes out, like he's still processing it all. "Or turn us all."

"What did Stilinski tell you?!" Jackson exclaims like he's offended that Danny doesn't trust him. 

"Stiles has his reasons to not trust us," Derek says in warning to his beta.

Danny ignores Derek and turns furiously to Jackson. "What fucking gall! You knew all this was going on, and you didn't tell me a word of it. I was in danger -- from you! And Stiles was the first person to think I deserved to know. You tried to fucking kill me, Jackson!" He flies at his lifelong best friend, fueled by anger and betrayal, and shoves at Jackson's chest.

Jackson, to his credit, doesn't use his supernatural advantage to shove back. He doesn't even fight him. Just stands there and lets Danny pound on him, only looking away to hide tears in his eyes. 

Derek finally steps between them, stopping the one-sided fight. "I forbade Jackson from telling you anything when I first bit him. Blame me." It hurt him to witness Danny's frustrated attack at all, because if Danny feels this betrayed by Jackson, how must Stiles feel by Scott and the entire pack?

Danny turns on Derek, and though intimidated as hell, he's too angry to care. "Did you or did you not banish Stiles from your pack, the one you now claim welcomes humans?" Danny heatedly asks then. "He -- he was afraid you'd bite me if you found out I knew. He looked -- looked terrified of you guys. He said -- my god, do you even realize how broken he is?!"

Derek wants to curl into himself and howl at the implication of Danny's words, and when he's alone later, he will. All he can do now is meet Danny's eyes and come clean. "I did banish him, but I didn't know how badly -- he'd take it. It was a _horrible_ mistake," Derek replies with naked honesty. It's soaking in, just how little Stiles must trust him now, just how deeply he has betrayed him. He knew Stiles and Allison were running, and he thought he understood all the reasons why, but it's only now hitting him that they're doing more than running. They are running scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Most_ books that I've read (and it's a lot as I'm a voracious reader!) have balanced chapters, as in, most are about the same length from beginning to end. I guess I'm lucky I'm not a professional writer and fanfic doesn't have editors telling you that things must be proportioned because the chapters will just keep getting longer. The final acts in this story are a lot meatier than the beginning. When plotting it out, I likened it to a roller coaster, slow and steady going uphill before the ride hits you hard and fast. I hope you're all enjoying the ride! ^^


	6. {bigger things to worry about}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Allison learn all too quickly just what they're up against with a werewolf baby on board. Their lives will never be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to UpstandingDeliquent for looking over this chapter, and listening to me yak on and on about motivations and realism. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I wish I could express how much your comments and kudos mean to me. I am astonished in the very best way by the support and enjoyment of this fanfic. I'm so inspired to write write write! **Thank you** for reading and being so encouraging!
> 
> Trigger-warning: severe panic attack and canon-typical violence. Tags will be updated accordingly.

Chapter 6  
\- Stiles -  
{bigger things to worry about} 

For two weeks after leaving Los Angeles, Stiles and Allison have stayed on the road, never stopping anywhere for more than two nights, but it's not easy traveling with a newborn. It's even more difficult traveling with a newborn werewolf. Luna, as they've taken to calling her, seems to have little rhyme or reason to her shifts, making them impossible to predict and therefore difficult to hide; Stiles begins to understand firsthand why the Hale home was so far into the woods and out of sight. They are in a drive-thru ordering burgers at one point when they notice the person handing them their food staring into the backseat. They turn to see the baby girl wolfed out, and Stiles has to mumble something about a costume party before they drive away.

They _need_ to stop somewhere soon, long enough to do all their dirty laundry, do some grocery shopping and just catch their collective breath. Stiles has been studying towns all over the US, and chose Oklahoma City as the safest gamble. The metro-population is over a million, so they can get lost in the crowd so to speak, and there is also a military base in the city; they hope that in itself is a deterrent for any wolf packs. The runaways also don't expect anyone from Beacon Hills to even remotely look for them in the middle of Oklahoma, in the middle of America. Stiles has even researched how the housing crash has affected the City, and there is a surplus of empty homes owned by banks after foreclosures. The plan is to settle into one, keep out of sight, and take a much-needed break from wandering. 

They plan to visit a local library, the furthest one from whatever home they squat in and prepare for the GED. They won't take the test until just before leaving the area for good, and even then give a PO Box to another big city for their results -- one they've already been through and set up just for this endeavor. But getting an education is important to both Stiles and Allison. Neither is willing to give up hope of attending college some day, even if only an online program, and they realize they need a GED first.

Following down their list of addresses (they are very grateful for public legal notices in newspapers and an internet so full of information ripe for the picking), they drive through neighborhoods looking at their foreclosed options, scouting which have neighbors in residence close by, and which look most vacant. It's a careful process, but they finally choose one on a corner lot, the house beside it just as uninhabited, and it has a garage they can park in as well. Luckily they find a window open on the second floor, and a garage door opener in a kitchen drawer. The electricity is also still on, which surprises them, but they don't plan on using it much if they can avoid it. 

The trio move in, their main living area the family room because it's windows aren't easily seen from the road, and they spread out their sleeping bags. The first night, even though they don't have a bed, they sleep hard. They've mostly learned to tune out loud neighbors in adjoining motel rooms, so the silence of their temporary home is golden. 

By now, they're both completely accustomed to Luna's random transitions between wolf and human, but they are a little shocked at how quickly she's growing. She awakens them the first morning with a whine, and Allison begins nursing her. Since Luna never transforms while eating, Allison had decided to continue breastfeeding her daughter; it's both less expensive and simpler than mixing formula in a car. She doesn't even try to hide from Stiles any longer, and Stiles doesn't really think of Allison's breasts as anything more than a food source. (He'd almost called her a walking bottle factory once, before thinking better of it.) Sometimes he wonders if that's because he's more interested in men or he only sees her platonically and as a mother to their little girl. He's so disinterested, in fact, that he dozes while Luna has her breakfast, but slowly rouses himself to stretch eventually.

"So I'll take the list you made yesterday and head to a grocery store," he murmurs after a big yawn. "May pick up an air mattress too."

Allison regards him, her hair pulled back in a pony tail, face puffy from sleep. "I put toys on it too. Give her something new to play with."

Stiles grins. "Maybe something educational. She's smart."

"You think it's normal, for werewolves to grow faster than humans?"

"Probably? It makes sense. She's more like a two month old than a two week old. Either you've got some supercharged breastmilk or --," he trails off, clearly teasing.

Allison throws a pillow at him as he leaves the room laughing at the look on her face.

He returns from the bathroom dressed, face washed and teeth brushed. "I'll figure out how to light the water heater when I get back. I'll have to buy matches. I don't want to take another cold shower like last night." He gives a full-body shiver, and Allison chuckles at his theatrics before turning serious again.

"You're wrinkled," Allison informs him, pointing to his clothes as he leans down to kiss Luna on the forehead. 

Stiles sticks out his tongue when he straightens and stands. "I live out of a duffel bag. Give a guy a break."

Instead of teasing back, she turns serious. "Be careful." Like she even needs to voice the worry and the warning.

Stiles nods solemnly in assurance. "You know I will. I'll go to a busy store." The seriousness fades into easy joking to lighten the mood before he leaves. "I won't talk to strangers. Or accept their proffered candy bribes. And I'll be back before you know it," he grins, waving farewell.

He's pleased, as he backs out of the driveway that no one is around. Probably most of the people who live on this street are at work for the day. Since he's alone, he puts in his One Direction CD that Allison absolutely hates, and turns it up. He loves Allison like family, and doesn't even have words for how much he adores Luna, but they're been living in each other's pockets for so long, it's refreshing to be alone. He feels good too. Since Luna arrived, he and Allison have both felt markedly better. He theorizes that Allison's pregnancy somehow put a physical drain on them both, that somehow Luna being a werewolf made them sick and then subsequently cured them, but he doesn't understand the physiology behind it. 

One of the downsides of being on the road is the lack of time for research. Before Luna was born, their spare time was spent on preparing for her birth. Trips to the library were spent studying baby books and things like Lamaze breathing. He hopes that he can use this time in OKC delving into studying werewolf children, as well as explaining his and Allison's strange illness. It's only looking back he even realizes they were truly unhealthy. They'd both attributed so much of it to stress at the time, but now that they were well again, it's hard to deny that they were both afflicted with something that Luna's birth somehow cured. It's a mystery, and Stiles likes solving mysteries.

He drives a good ten miles from their residence, parking and walking inside. He grabs a buggy and heads for the baby aisle first. He's got his list in hand when he notices he's being stared at by a prissy looking soccer-mom. He glances down at his clothes, at first worried he'd pulled something out from the dirty laundry but no, he's clean. Just wrinkled as Allison said, so the woman can just get over it. He's got bigger things to worry about than his clothes meeting someone's disapproval.

Stiles catches himself looking around several times as he shops; being paranoid and hyper-aware of his surroundings comes second nature to him now. He doesn't notice anyone following him, but he still hurries. The longer he's apart from Allison and Luna, the more he worries about them. So much for the initial joy at his solitude; now he can't wait to be back with the other two. He's not even aware part of that is pack dynamics; he doesn't think of them as a pack.

Thirty minutes after entering the store, he's in the check-out lane with a bountiful cart. He grins as he puts the children's books on the conveyor belt, looking forward to reading them to Luna. He pays in cash, as they leave no paper trail to follow, and heads outside to put his purchases in the back of their latest vehicle, a non-descript 1989 Honda Civic.

He glances around, seeing no one nearby and begins unloading the groceries. Damn werewolves are fast though, and before his eyes can make another sweep, he finds himself pinned to the pavement, a knee in his back. He fights the hold, but gets a growl in response, and he realizes he's screwed up, badly. That's a werewolf growl if he's ever heard one -- and he has many, many times.

"What do you want!?" Stiles gasps out, though it's difficult when the air is being pressed out of him.

He hears the heels clicking on the asphalt before he sees them stop a few feet from his face. "Ease up, Rory. He can't breathe." Her voice is so normal, like a teacher or a mom. _A soccer mom!_

She squats in front of him, tilting her head in a wolfish manner. "You didn't ask permission to come into my territory," she informs him, almost politely. 

Stiles screws up his face, and though the man holding him down has eased up, he couldn't get free if he tried. He decides to plead ignorance, he is human after all. Maybe he doesn't reek too much of Luna, even though he knows that's a silly hope since he holds her at every opportunity. "Territory? Soccer moms have gangs in the suburbs?"

Rory doesn't like Stiles' response, based on the knee thrusting into his kidney, but the woman in front of him glares at the man restraining him until he removes the pressure again. 

She nods at Rory, who then yanks Stiles to his feet. She smirks at him, as if amused. "We're going for a drive," she informs him, even as Rory ties his hands and escorts him to the passenger seat of Stiles' car; he feels this is a gross injustice, being kidnapped in his own vehicle and would let it be known, but he's not going to speak if he can avoid it. The silent Stiles is summarily pushed to sit and then his feet are tied too. Stiles doesn't really believe in a greater power (except perhaps magic), but he finds himself praying that they can't trace Allison and Luna back to the house by his scent alone. He's suddenly glad that they have a plan in place -- if either of them disappear for more than a day, the other travels to their next planned city. He hopes Allison and Luna are far away from here long before this time tomorrow.

Soccer Mom slides into the driver's seat and retrieves the car keys from Stiles' hoodie pocket as Rory slides into the seat behind Stiles. She glances up at him, her eyes flashing red. Stiles is inwardly only just beginning a silent rant about maniac Alphas seconds before he feels a hard knock against the back of his head and his world goes black.

*******

When Stiles comes to, he's in a lounge chair on a deck, the sun shining on him like it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. He can't see anything but woods surrounding him, gnarled patches of drought-resistant post and blackjack oaks in a dense cross-timbered forest. Maybe they should have simply avoided any area with forests, he reflects scathingly. He swivels his head to look at the house attached to said deck just in time to see Alpha Soccer Mom coming out with a tray of lemonade and -- is that cookies?

Stiles can only scowl at her. Apparently she thinks him so weak, such a puny human, that she can ply him with hospitality. She doesn't know how wrong she is. He tries to stand, but his ankles are tied to the lounger. So much for hospitality.

"Oh, don't rush off. We haven't talked," she smiles, placing the tray on the table between them and sitting sideways in the lounger beside him. "I'm Caroline Emerson," she introduces herself and then gestures to the surrounding forest. "Not to mention this is my territory and it's well-patrolled. You wouldn't get very far."

Stiles stays stubbornly silent, even as she pours two glasses of fresh lemonade. She offers him a glass, ice tinkling, but he declines with a shake of his head.

With a shrug, she sips at her own. "Let me tell you what I know already. You're human. From a werewolf pack. Not one that I'm familiar with because I don't recognize the scent. All the packs around here know each other, even if we rarely socialize."

Stiles doesn't speak.

"You didn't approach me for permission to come into my territory so you either don't know the protocol, or you're only passing through. You also smell of a very young wolf child, probably a newborn. How am I doing?" she smiles again.

Stiles hates that smile, hates werewolf senses, hates their supernatural powers that make him an open book without him purposely divulging a single secret. And he hates Derek, for not better preparing his pack and his _shunned_ for dealing with other werewolves.

"The fact you don't want to talk to me tells me that you're probably hiding from your pack. What, did you and one of the she-wolves fall in love and make a baby? Decide to run?"

Stiles' brow furrows because he can't figure out why a couple would run in that situation. Unless the female was mated to someone else?

Caroline chuckles. "Such an expressive face. So that's obviously a no." She takes another sip from her glass. "I'm not your enemy," she murmurs.

Stiles can't resist responding to that. "You kidnapped me from a grocery store, hit me over the head and have me tied up!"

That fades Caroline's smile. "Son, I don't know what your pack has taught you, but it's my _job_ to protect my pack and my territory. You sauntered in as pretty as you please, and aren't being the least bit cooperative. Now, I'd like to help you, but I don't even know what I'm dealing with. All I know is I have a pack human who may have stolen a pack baby and may be bringing a fight into my little corner of the world." She offers him the glass again. "Now drink the damn lemonade I made for you, have a cookie and start talking."

"I didn't steal anyone!" Stiles protests.

"Well, now we're getting somewhere! Do you even realize you reek of werewolf baby? I smelled you from inside the store, the minute you stepped out of your car," Caroline informs him. "Reek is probably the wrong word. It's just such a _good_ , strong smell, and too rare in the world these days if you ask me." The last is wistful. "I'll wager the babe isn't very old or we wouldn't have been the first strange pack you've encountered. You'd have been a lot more careful."

Stiles sighs, and takes the glass. Mainly because she's still holding it out to him, but he doesn't take a drink. "I didn't realize it was that -- recognizable a scent."

Caroline's eyes go wide before she shakes her head with a wry chuckle. "You might as well be waving a red flag, son."

That brings out a wince. He'd had no clue, obviously. He's also getting tired of her calling him _son_ , but to call her on it would make him think of his Dad, so he chooses to ignore it instead.

"I smell another human on you. And the baby. Is it just the three of you?" Caroline asks.

"You can torture me, I won't give up any information," Stiles states a lot more bravely than he feels. He's scared, but doing his best to front.

Caroline smiles again. "You mean it too; I can hear it in your heart. But you're also scared, and I'm not trying to scare you."

"Again, not the best way to greet me if that wasn't your goal," Stiles frowns.

Caroline doesn't wolf out, but she allows her claws to shift and slide out dangerously sharp, and Stiles stares at them. He's certain he's about to die, and says another prayer that Allison has already taken Luna and run far from this place. Instead, the alpha merely cuts the cords that were holding his ankles to the chair. "Follow me," she instructs then, the claws disappearing as fast as they appeared.

Stiles stands cautiously, gives a fleeting look the forest, and then places his glass on the table. They enter the large home, practically a mansion, and Caroline is greeted by several children, all of whom are surrounding a television, apparently taking turns playing a dancing competition on a video game console. All but the two playing look at Stiles curiously as they pass through the room and go into a hallway.

"I have one of the largest packs in a tri-state area. The three states being Arkansas, Kansas and Oklahoma, in case you're curious. We're allies with the packs in Northern Texas, Colorado and New Mexico too," Caroline explains as she pauses in front of a closed door. "I'm not interested in stealing your baby, son. Or in hurting you. And if those pack kiddos back there aren't enough to convince you, let me show you this." She opens the door and inside is a nursery with two cribs. Inside each is a sleeping baby, swaddled in blankets. She smiles down at them before prodding Stiles back into the hallway and closing the door. "My pack has been blessed. The twins were born six months ago. We're not a pack desperate for new blood."

Stiles can only stare at her. He's a little surprised she would let a stranger see them. And it's almost as if she can read his mind with her next words.

"I'm showing you so you'll see that you can trust me. I am _honestly_ willing to help you. The next pack you run across might just as soon kill you and take that wolfling than keep you alive." Caroline's words are blunt and Stiles can hear the bald honesty in them, even without acutely keen senses.

He deflates a bit, leaning against the nearest wall. She puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to tell me where your family is, son, but if you tell me what's going on, I might be able to offer advice at least. Or maybe even a place in my pack. Come on, let's sit in my office and talk."

She sits him on a comfortable couch, taking a seat in a wing-backed chair nearby. The walls are lined with bookshelves, filled with books - everything from classics to ancient histories. Stiles is pretty sure he sees tomes of werewolf lore as well, and his fingers itch to open and read them. She pulls his attention back to her by clearing her throat.

He decides to open up a little bit and see how she reacts. She's obviously not going to just let him go until she decides he's harmless. "My best friend got pregnant by her boyfriend -- a werewolf." It's strange to Stiles' ears to call Allison his best friend when the aforementioned werewolf had filled that role for so many years of his life. "Said werewolf used to be a good friend of mine too. He turned his back on both of us, so we left town. We're just traveling around now."

"So you're a pack of three?"

"Is that enough to be counted a pack?" Stiles asks with lifted brow.

"Well, yes. The baby being werewolf makes you a pack," Caroline explains. She still looks confused. "Why didn't the local Alpha come talk to your friend? It was their responsibility to take her in, make her pack."

Stiles shakes his head. "When my werewolf friend was first bitten, I was like, his plus one in the pack. Token human mascot, I guess. I considered myself pack, but was never really invited? Accepted? Anyway, the Alpha didn't want me in the pack. And he never liked the baby's mom either."

Caroline makes a sound of outrage. "That's -- that's insane! No pack rejects the baby of a pack member! It's a blessing - a boon! A gift!"

Stiles might be leaving out that they hid the pregnancy, but he doesn't see why Caroline needs to know that. His stomach is already churning with worry that he's said too much. She seems sincere, even kind almost, but he doesn't trust her. "Why are you offering to help me if you're so certain other packs are going to harm us?"

Caroline sighs. "We're an old pack. A healthy pack. We have no need of fresh blood. We aren't desperate like so many packs out there to rebuild our numbers. But you're not going to encounter many packs this settled. Hunters have decimated so many, entire packs even." She meets his eyes, holding his gaze. "You're out-sensed in every way, and the baby is too young to help. I'd rather help you than hinder you, but how do you expect to manage on your own?"

 _'A complete stranger has more interest in me being a part of their pack than Derek Hale, who knew me. He found me utterly useless and weak,'_ Stiles thinks bitterly. He snorts at his own thoughts. "So what's your advice?"

"Join a larger pack. Werewolf numbers are dwindling, but not so small that you'll find many places without at least a small pack claiming territory. Your pack of three is too weak, too tiny, especially when one of you is a defenseless baby."

"And if I join your pack, you get your hands on a werewolf baby without any resistance," Stiles points out.

Caroline actually looks hurt. Stiles wonders if she's that good of an actress. "Something, or someone, has made you deeply distrustful."

Stiles shrugs in reply. "If we stay on our own, stay on the road, what do you suggest?"

She levels another gaze on him, and then shakes her head. She answers, but as if against her own better judgment. "Stick to tourist towns. Werewolves are territorial, and they don't like a lot of strangers in and out of their territory. You won't find many packs lingering in those kinds of places. If you're going to stay anywhere for longer than a day or so, make sure it's a busy touristy place. But remember that even just a day or two somewhere on the road, you could run into a pack. Just like you did today," she reminds him. "You're foolish, to not seek a pack to join." She sounds legitimately worried for him.

"What if I told you the baby's mother is the daughter of Hunters?" Stiles offers, eyes steady on Caroline's.

The Alpha visibly recoils, eyes going wide. "Oh dear god in heaven," she whispers. "Are you serious?"

Stiles doesn't answer, only raises his chin defiantly.

Caroline takes several deliberate, concentrated breaths a long moment. "I withdraw any offer to join my pack," she finally murmurs quietly.

"I thought you might," Stiles replies, trying not to sound disappointed.

"The child of Hunters is usually trained to be a hunter from a young age. If she's taken a different path, then I respect her for it; I suspect her relationship with a werewolf likely motivated that decision. But despite her family, the werewolf father's own pack should have accepted the baby. And the mother." Caroline doesn't phrase it as a question, but it is, hanging in the air between them as she tries desperately to understand.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't call the local pack, especially it's alpha, healthy or educated," Stiles shrugs.

"Apparently not if they didn't embrace _you_ as a member," Caroline answers thoughtfully.

Stiles huffs, but can't force himself to respond to that. He'd rather not think about how little he'd been embraced. Instead, he wonders how much time has passed since he left to get groceries and supplies. Allison must be worried sick. "What do I need to do to ask your permission to shop for groceries in your territory? And for permission to stay in town a few days?"

Caroline waves her hand in the air dismissively. "We put your cold goods in the refrigerator and freezer when we got here. We'll return them to you before we take you back. And you're welcome to stay, but for two days only. I'm sorry I can't allow longer, but I do **not** want her family in my territory."

"I would never wish hunters on your family," Stiles assures her, and he means it. He thinks of this house being burned to the ground, like the Hale home, full of innocent children as well, and he shudders at the very thought. He can't blame her for being wary of Allison's family, even though he wants to.

"There's really only one thing I can do for you," the Alpha finally murmurs. "Only one way you can protect yourself from werewolves that you can't even hear or smell." She's frowning at him.

Stiles tilts his head to one side, a disturbing apprehension settling in his stomach. She's already wolfing out in front of him by then and before he can protest, before he can shout the _no_ forming in his throat, she's on him. She's strong, so very strong, and no amount of jerking away can stop the bite, the teeth ripping into his side leaving blood and saliva in it's wake. 

The pain is so intense, he thinks he might pass out. His ears are ringing, and he thinks he screamed, but he can't be sure. Before he can even gather his wits, she's shifted back to a soccer mom, wiping her mouth on a tissue from the box on her desk. 

"How could you do that to me?! I never wanted -- I didn't want that!" Stiles yells.

Caroline looks sad, kneeling beside him on the floor beside the sofa. "You're protecting a werewolf baby. You need every possible weapon at your disposal," she points out. "At least this way, you can smell another werewolf long before one can take you down in a grocery store parking lot."

Stiles hates how reasonable she sounds, how much sense she's making. He feels betrayed, violated, and his side is still blazing with pain. "Fuck you, lady," he grits out.

She goes to her desk, ignoring his venomous words, and pulls out several sheets of paper. He watches her, pacing once he's able to find his footing and stand. She makes a list, folding it in half and then beginning a letter. She folds it in half as well when finished. Next, she begins what looks like another letter, though she doesn't sign it before folding it too. And finally, Caroline pulls a business card from her drawer. She slides the four items toward Stiles before standing and going to the bookcase. She chooses a book and adds it to the other offerings. 

"The first is a list of books that I suggest you read. You might have to special order them from the internet if you can't get them at a library. They'll better educate you to this life you've embraced," Caroline begins.

"Embraced?! You just forced it on me!" Stiles asserts angrily.

She narrows her gaze on him. "You embraced it when you formed a pack with your best friend and that baby. Now let me finish. The second is a letter of reference from me. It _might_ bring you goodwill if you run across any of my allies, but it's no guarantee. You don't seem to grasp how much packs are going to covet that infant. I can't even guarantee it will protect you from some of my allies; they'll want that babe." She taps the third paper. "I attempted to write down as many codes of conduct and werewolf etiquettes that I could in a short period of time. Memorize them and employ them the next time you meet an alpha or betas. It may save your life." 

Apparently the business card was self-explanatory; she doesn't mention it before handing him the book. "The book will help you in dealing with a werewolf child. It's going to be a lot more difficult once the baby is more mobile if you're not prepared, at least until they understand reason. He or she will grow faster than a human child too, until she levels off in her mid-teens."

Stiles swallows hard and just stares at her. "Why are you doing this?"

"I hope you'll return that book in person. I hope you'll join my pack, but I won't force you to stay. I suspect you'll never abandon your friend and child, but something might happen to a hunter -- if so, you have a pack that will welcome both you and the baby."

"But we're not welcome now," Stiles doesn't impressed. "Not with the daughter of Hunters."

"No, not with a hunter. I can't chance having her family on my doorstep. They -- they've killed entire packs," Caroline sounds regretful.

"No, I get that. I do. The pack at home -- isn't the original pack in that territory. They were burned out." Stiles bites his bottom lip. He's still pissed she bit him, but he can recognize she's offering help. It's a paradox, her offering help moments after cursing him. He's not even sure what he feels aside from indignant outrage.

"If you'll be so kind as to mail that book back to me when finished, it would be appreciated." She inhales deeply, leaning in toward Stiles as if memorizing his scent. "I haven't asked your name. I did look at your license, but I suspect it's fake. When you finally realize that you should be thanking me for that bite, call me. I'd like to be properly introduced."

Stiles scowls at her, and she shrugs. "I'll have Rory bag up your cold groceries and take you back to the parking lot where we found you. Your mobile is in your glove compartment. I repeat, if you ever choose to leave your huntress, you've a place in my pack and I will welcome you. And don't hesitate to call me if you're in need. I don't turn people lightly," Caroline shares, looking more than a little sad.

"You could have asked," Stiles finally manages. He's furious, and actually feels a bit ill.

"The bite is a gift."

Those are her final words to him. Once she leaves the room, Stiles doesn't see her again before Rory comes to the doorway, escorting him from the house.

Rory blindfolds him before they drive away from the Emerson home, removing it only when they're back in the city proper. Not being familiar with the city, Stiles isn't sure whether they take a direct route or not, but eventually they're back in the parking lot they began in, and Stiles hasn't spoken a word the entire trip. Part of him is in denial, part of him is angry and part of him just wants to close his eyes and sleep. He wonders if the latter is normal post-bite, but he's not about to ask his driver.

Rory doesn't even tell him goodbye, though he does study him a long moment before exiting the car and then disappearing into the crowded store. Stiles doesn't hesitate to lock all the doors and then jump into the driver's seat, though the action pulls at his wound, making him wince. He pulls out his mobile and calls Allison, who is crying in relief when she answers.

"Stiles! Are you okay?!" She sounds frantic, and he can hear that Luna is crying in the background.

"Pack up. We're leaving just as soon as I can pick you up. We need to trade cars again too," he informs her, the words coming out in a panicked rush. "I'll explain as soon as I arrive." He hangs up and speeds back to what had been their very brief home.

Allison is ready, everything packed and Stiles trips over his explanation, filling her in as fast as he can. She looks horrified, but he's shrugging it off for her sake. At least for now. "I need you to drive. I feel sick."

She readily agrees, and within minutes, they're back on the road. "Are we still going to St Louis next?" she asks, reaching over to touch his forehead. "Are you hot? Does a werewolf bite cause a fever?"

Stiles leans his head back on the seat. "I'm fine. I'll be healthy as a fucking werewolf in about twenty-four hours. Just drive. South. Drive south. We're going to Las Vegas," he murmurs, completely depleted by the recent events. "Can't get more touristy than Vegas."

*******

Stiles startles awake about four hours later when Allison pulls to a stop. "We're in Fort Worth. I thought it would be a good place to stop for the night, and sell the car." He looks up to see they're in a hotel parking lot - certainly not the best chain, but not the worst either. That's their common method in choosing a place to stay. He glances back at Luna, who seems to be sleeping soundly. They've been lucky that the long drives seem to soothe her, lulling her into naps. Of course, that same benefit means Luna often keeps them up at night, but they're managing.

 _Just managing_ , Stiles thinks to himself. They had really needed to lay low somewhere for a while, but he couldn't stay in Oklahoma. Not after that bitch bit him. He still feels sick, like he's going to burn up or throw up or something up all over everything, but it's not until Allison reaches over to squeeze his hand that he realizes he's shaking. He's shaking so hard the entire car is moving with him, and he tries to force himself to calm down.

It's all psychosomatic, but he doesn't know that. He turns to Allison with wide eyes. "What if it doesn't take? It takes or it kills you. What if I'm sick because -- I'm dying?" he whispers. His terror isn't even so much for himself as for Allison and Luna; he can't leave them alone.

Allison is murmuring to him, soft shushing that he really can't even hear over the pounding in his ears. He's shaking again, and he hears crying. It shocks him a moment later when he realizes it's himself that's making the sound.

That's when Allison slaps him, and then plants her hands gently on each side of his face. She's staring at him, almost willing him to calm down with her mind. "Please, Stiles, can you hear me?"

He manages to nod his head before she goes on. "I need to check us into a room. Please, hold it together until we're inside. Luna's wolfed out now, and you're scaring us both."

Stiles' head swivels to the back seat where Luna's eyes are full of unshed tears as she stares at her daddy, her fingers gripping the car seat with far more dexterity than a normal two week old should possess. He whips his eyes back to Allison. "Get a room," he manages, his voice hoarse and foreign to his own ears. "I'll keep it in until you're back." 

He can't promise longer than that because he knows he's having a major freak-out. There's a panic attack on his horizon, and he's not even trying to pretend otherwise. He hasn't felt this out of control, this close to breaking into a million pieces since his mom passed away.

While Allison goes inside to check in for the night, he keeps his gaze locked on Luna. It's the only thing keeping him sane right now. Later, he'll consider how much more connected he feels to the baby, how just looking at her helps keep the storm at bay, but he has zero appreciation for the bite just then, and what it means to his relationship with his daughter. Stiles feels violated every time he thinks about being bitten, so he pushes that from his mind because he simply can't lose it yet.

He has little memory of Allison returning, or their taking their things into the room. Inside is a king-size bed, their usual choice and he literally drops the bags from his hands onto the middle of the floor and crawls atop it, wrapping his arms around a pillow. Allison and Luna join him shortly, replacing the pillow with their own bodies, and Stiles let's go. It's probably a sign of how much he trusts the two females at his side, as well as how close he's been to the end of his rope, that he freaks out with such utter abandon. He's not sure how long he sobs, how long he rocks, or how long Luna cuddles against him while Allison holds him.

And it's not the memory of Caroline's teeth ripping into his side that aches so much, its that it was forced on him. He might have even chosen it, if Caroline had explained why he should take the bite, but she didn't give him that option. It feels like a loss, to his humanity and his person. Who is he now? Is he the same Stiles that left for the grocery store that morning? And maybe part of it too is missing Beacon Hills, homesickness and other raw emotions that he hasn't allowed himself to feel. Everything he's been burying and internalizing is pouring out. Because the grievous truth of it is that he'd lost Beacon Hills long before they left. Everything he had cared about -- his father, Scott, the pack, even Derek, had been ripped from him as much as his free will had been in Caroline's office.

Somewhere during his breakdown, he has an actual panic attack, his throat closing up and his lungs filling with a familiar, empty burn, but Allison talks him through it. He wouldn't think a small baby could offer comfort, but Luna curls her body against him as if she knows that he needs the tactility of her warm baby smell. When it is finally over, and he is able to find his composure again, Luna has fallen asleep in his arms, and Allison still has hers wrapped around his shoulders. Her eyes are red with tears as well, and he wants to hang his head in shame.

"Oh God, Allison. I'm sorry. I lost it," he whispers. "I really just flipped my shit all over you."

Allison strokes his hair. "Shh, I did the same thing when we realized Luna was a werewolf. You held me, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was calm compared to this," Stiles sighs, sounding wiped-out.

"Stiles, you were attacked. You were hit over the head, kidnapped and then bitten by a werewolf. Most people would have been too incoherent to drive back to us, but you did that and more. You got us away from danger," Allison tries to reassure him.

Stiles isn't too ashamed to bury his face in her shoulder. "I don't feel sick anymore. Just drained. So fucking drained," he sighs.

"Good. That's good, right? We've got this. You know about control because you helped teach -- others." She can't even say Scott's name. "And you know more about werewolves than probably most of the betas back home," she murmurs. "Luna isn't a lone wolf now."

"We're a pack," Stiles admits. "That bitch told me that since Luna was born wolf, we three are a pack. Albeit a tiny one. She said she bit me so I could better protect us." He's about to tell her more details, having only given her a rough overview when he'd first raced back to them, but he's interrupted by his own large yawn. "I don't remember Sc-- I don't remember hearing the other betas being this sleepy afterward."

Allison eases him onto a pillow, taking Luna from his arms. Once he's settled, she puts Luna back beside him. "I'm going to finish unloading the car while you two rest. I'm," she pauses, trying to find the words. "I'm sorry, Stiles. That this happened to you. I feel like it's our fault," she admits.

Stiles' eyes had been closing, but they open immediately and he reaches out to clasp her hand. "Don't blame yourself. That's like placing the blame on Luna, and she couldn't be more innocent. It's just what it is, and I'll deal with it now. You're right. We've got this."

Allison gives him a nod and a small smile. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere except the car and right back here. And then I'm going to lock us in for the night."

Stiles nods, knowing he won't fall asleep until he hears her return and lock the door, until he knows the three of them are safe for the night. He appreciates her all over again, for being there for him when everyone else walked away. And he wishes, not for the first time, that he could summon a romantic attachment to her, but if it hasn't happened by now, he's fairly certain it's not going to happen at all.

He finds himself staring at little Luna while he waits on Allison to come back. And he can confess something to her that he would never voice to Allison -- or anyone really. Part of him can't believe he's going to put it into words at all.

"You want to know how foolish your Daddy really is?" he whispers to the wolfling in his care. "My first thought when I realized she was going to bite me? I thought it would be Derek. If anyone ever turned me, I thought it would be him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a chapter to the fic as I've decided to add an epilogue. And I think it help the story flow as a whole to spread things out a bit more.


	7. {that's what pack does}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's visit to the Sheriff's department leads to surprising consequences. Meanwhile, Scott is handling things badly, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Imbolc (a03) and sterekshipsailing (tumblr) for beta-reading and encouragement. They are both awesome in their own right, and have my gratitude and friendship. Imbolc's been putting up with me for over a decade now, and I hope to know sterekshipsailing at least as long! This chapter wouldn't be what it is without them. Any remaining errors are my own.
> 
> Also a giant apology to my readers for taking so long with this chapter. While I'm not sure what I could have done differently to have finished it sooner, I do feel terrible that there was such a long wait for this update. On the bright side, I've already made progress on chapter 8!

Chapter 7  
\- Danny -  
that's what pack does

PART ONE

_The second morning after Allison and Stiles leave Beacon Hills..._

**7:30am**

Danny had lain in bed wide awake for hours after Derek and Jackson left him -- left with the list of fake names and contacts he'd given up under duress, under the threat to his family. A threat that was apparently a bluff. Danny had always thought he was a decent poker player, but Derek had completely duped him. Of course, it was his family on the line and not just a pile of jelly beans so even if he had suspected Derek was all bark and no bite, well, Danny wouldn't have taken the chance that his family might actually be hurt because of his own nefarious activities. 

He'd been terrified though, until he'd gotten pissed and then the adrenaline took over. He still couldn't believe he'd yelled at a dangerous Alpha werewolf the way he had, and even more so, he couldn't believe Derek had let him. The werewolf had even looked a little guilty by the time he left. Danny was baffled when he watched them crawl out his window.

He'd done some bluffing of his own though, so maybe he'd hedged his bets just enough to buy Stiles and Allison some time, especially if they'd been smart after leaving town. He sure hopes so, because now he's mixing up his gambling metaphors, further proof he's running on nerves and too little sleep.

He didn't yet realize that Derek had been sincere, when he'd invited Danny into his pack. All he knew was that the Alpha had been serious about him going to see the Sheriff. Not that Danny had tempted fate. No, he'd be at the sheriff's office bright and early the next morning, give the Sheriff the same names he'd listed for Derek, and answer all the questions - with mostly the truth.

When he finally crawls out of bed, mind still buzzing with Derek and Jackson's visit, he doesn't hesitate to go visit Sheriff Stilinski. That is one threat he is sure Derek meant, and when he parks his car in front of the Sheriff's Department, before going in, he pulls out his cell phone. He dials the number from memory, not stupid enough to have it in his list of contacts on either his real cell phone or his disposable.

He had left a name off the lists - his most trusted and valued contact, Razz. He'd learned long ago that if you give honest answers, that doesn't always mean you have to give complete ones. 

"Razz, it's me. Safe line?"

"All clear. Go ahead," comes the reply.

"I sent someone your way. Someone looking for passports," Danny begins, but the other man on the line clears his throat.

"That may be, but you know I can't tell you if I gave them anything."

"No, no. I don't want the aliases. I just wanted to make sure they got other documents from you besides from me. I've been compromised," Danny explains quickly.

"Well, shit. How compromised?"

"Don't worry, man. I didn't give you up. I just wanted to make sure my buddy made off with something besides the IDs I gave them because I'm thinking mine aren't worth crap now," Danny sighs.

"I won't confirm."

"I think you just did. Thanks, man. Seriously. They're good people." Danny pauses, closing his eyes. "I've got an interview with law enforcement today. You're safe, but I'd still lay low if I were you."

"Got ya." The phone clicking off shouldn't seem so loud, but it still startles Danny. Maybe it's just really unusual for anyone to use a landline, or maybe he's nervous. In any case, he's relieved for Stiles' sake. They just might make it despite him.

He clears the incoming and outgoing calls of his pay-as-you-go cell and tosses it into his glove compartment before entering the station, and finds himself greeted by Sheriff Stilinski almost immediately. "I've been expecting you," is his greeting as Danny's ushered into a chair. He's always respected Stiles' father, but not enough to make this easy. He crosses his arms and looks relaxed for all appearances.

And then begins the interrogation. He gives him the same list he'd given Derek the night before, the Sheriff jotting down notes. "My people are running these names already. Derek texted them to me last night," he explains, eyeballing Danny.

"I'm not sure how you can treat them like fugitives. They didn't commit any crime in leaving town. Allison is a legal adult -- she's eighteen," Danny murmurs.

"You think I'm doing this because I think my son is a criminal?" The Sheriff sounds shocked before continuing. "I'm not sure what Stiles told you --,"

Danny interrupts. "I beg your pardon, but Stiles sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing and why. I think you should let him go."

"Considering you've been providing half of the BHHS population with fake IDs, I think you should watch your tongue," the Sheriff informs him. 

Before he can say more, a deputy knocks at the door. "We've got something, sir," the woman in uniform interjects after opening the door. 

"Stay put," he points at Danny and moves out of the room. Danny leans closer to the door, hoping to overhear. The exchange is muffled, but he can manage to understand just fine.

"We got a hit on that first name. A fellow was pulled over for speeding in Idaho with that set of identification. Patrolman got suspicious because the photo didn't match the driver. Turns out he bought it off a kid in Oregon. Sounds like your boy sold whatever papers he was using..." The words trail off after that, as they move further away from the room holding Danny.

Danny just looks at the wall and smiles. So instead of using the names Danny gave him, Stiles sold off the goods. Stiles must have gotten fresh goods from Razz. He was even smarter than ever Danny realized. Good for him. _Good for him._

Almost immediately in the days following, Lydia begins her campaign for him to join the pack. She tries everything from coercion to cajoling, but Danny takes a silent role in response to her dramatic attempts to sway him. He simply refuses to react; even Lydia Martin doesn't control a Mahealani. Not that he feels forced or threatened. In fact, Jackson and Lydia are downright fawning and shockingly open when they try and talk to him. He's like a rock though, firm and unshaken in his resolve to keep his distance from all things Hale pack.

That is until he gets sucked in by Sheriff Stilinski, and is slowly convinced. Since he had come in to the station willingly, he hadn't been charged with anything, but the Sheriff did warn him that if he made any more fake IDs, he would face a criminal record. One that wouldn't be sealed as his hacking arrest had been. He'd agreed because what choice did he have? Not to mention he was worried he'd inadvertently helped put Stiles in danger. He had also been impressed by how concerned the Sheriff seemed to be.

Lydia's most recent recruiting tactic involved cornering him in the boys' locker room at school and lecturing him on how Stiles and Allison were sitting targets now with no pack to back them up. She listed in graphic details all the dangers they faced with a helpless newborn now assuredly in tow. The cockiness he'd felt during his initial interview with the Sheriff begins evaporating into real worry.

He eventually goes over to the Stilinski house, to express as much to the Sheriff. The man hugs him. _Hugs_ him, and assures him that he'd been a good friend to Stiles. He states that Stiles would have left no matter what. Danny feels better after leaving, and is walking out to his car when he sees Derek waiting for him.

"You should drop by more often. He's lonely," Derek nods toward the Stilinski house.

"Is that why you're here?"

He's surprised when Derek nods. "We're -- friends now. We both care about Stiles."

Danny can't contain his snort of derision before getting into his car and leaving. The Alpha had brought all of this on himself, as far as Danny is concerned. He'd seen with his own eyes how ostracized Stiles had been in the months leading up to his running away, and it hadn't been pretty. While Danny feels sincere concern for the Sheriff, the weight of sadness over the situation visible in the lines of the older man's face, he feels no such distress for Derek. 

But he does go back to visit the Sheriff. Several times, in fact. Because the man does seem lonely, and Danny likes hearing how the case was going. Not that it seems to go _anywhere_. 

"My kid's smart. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be," the Sheriff once comments over grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Do you think the pack here wants to hurt him?" Danny asks. He's being worn down and not even aware of it, the Sheriff a lot stronger advocate for the pack than even Lydia.

The Sheriff shakes his head no. "I think it was a big misunderstanding. Not that I'm mitigating Stiles' hurt. Derek screwed up. Big time." He wipes his mouth on a napkin, looking intensely sad. "I keep thinking how _alone_ my boy and Allison must have felt. I wish I'd been there for him...," he trails off before focusing back on Danny. "I can honestly say that now I really know Derek Hale, I know he wouldn't willingly hurt my son again. Ever. But I'm beginning to think he's never going to get the chance to prove it."

He sounds so sad, so broken up, that Danny almost doesn't ask any more pointed questions. Almost.

"You and Derek -- are friends now?" he'd inquires cautiously.

The Sheriff stares at Danny a long moment, and then nods. "Yeah, he's a friend. He attends meetings with me, did you know?"

Danny has to lock his back teeth together to keep his jaw from dropping. He knows by now that the Sheriff attends AA meetings, but he didn't know that Derek went with him. It is mostly a taboo topic, Danny thinks, since it puts the Sheriff's position in the community and his very job at risk. Who's going to re-elect and hire a drunk Sheriff after all?

"Derek's an alcoholic?"

The Sheriff shakes his head. "Werewolves can't get drunk apparently. It metabolizes too fast. He goes to support me. He says some of what they teach helps him deal with stuff from his past."

Armed with this new and surprising knowledge, Danny decides to approach Derek. They talk, calmly and seriously. Derek actually apologizes for threatening Danny's family, admits he was crazy with worry over Stiles. Danny is shocked by his own reaction because he's convinced the Alpha is sincere. Six months after Stiles and Allison put Beacon Hills in their rearview mirror, Danny officially joins the Hale pack. He and the Sheriff are inducted in a ceremony together.

 

PART TWO

_twenty moons later...  
Christmas break for those in the pack attending college_

The Hale house is newly constructed. Granted, it looks nothing like the home Peter and Derek grew up in, but it is no longer the charred shell of the former house either. The new house isn't even in the same spot as the old. Instead, there's a large boulder sitting in memorial of Derek's now demolished childhood home. It just appeared there one night, and Danny still doesn't know how Derek managed to move a rock that size into place. 

Though he only saw the damaged remains a few times in his lifetime, Danny knows this can only be healthy, as are the intended changes on the original architecture. Derek had chosen something more modern, more open in its floorplan, and it looks so different, neither Derek nor Peter are confronted with painful memories around every corner. Danny approves, not that anyone has asked his opinion.

Danny, now a psychology major, is stretched out on one of the sofas in the new Hale living room, and Scott sprawled across the other while a movie plays on the blu-ray. Danny really isn't watching it, though Scott appears to be. The two probably look companionable, but actually, they barely talk. Scott isn't the same person that Danny had attended Beacon Hills High School with, and he has little patience for the new Scott.

"Can you turn it down?" Danny asks a lot more patiently than he feels.

"You can," comes Scott's rude reply. Useless Scott, the only one that isn't attending college. Neither does he join Derek on the road. He still works for Deaton, but that's the extent of his industry. He's not much good at anything, instead playing the victim and martyr the last year, blaming everyone else for his problems and taking very few steps to fix things himself.

Frankly, if he weren't pack, the others would wash their hands of him. Even Danny, nice guy that he is, can barely tolerate him. But when Derek is away, Scott acts like the Hale house is his castle. 

"Dude. You have the remote."

"Fuck you, Danny. Go home," Scott snaps.

Danny's dark brows furrow and he sits up straight on the sofa. "This isn't your house. You may think you run it when Derek's not here, but you don't. Peter outranks you. I probably outrank you too, given how little you contribute," he snaps back. That was probably really stupid, given Danny is still very much human and Scott could attack, but it's still true. And frankly, Danny isn't scared of Scott.

Scott jumps up, as if he thinks towering over Danny makes him a bigger man. Or rather, a bigger werewolf.

Danny stands as well, much taller than Scott. "Derek says humans can outrank werewolves," he reminds the bitter teen.

"Derek isn't here and I can easily rip your throat out," Scott growls.

Peter enters before Danny can reply. "Tsk, tsk. Down boy. You hurt Danny and you won't just have Derek seeking retribution. I'm sure Jackson and Lydia would take a piece of your hide too. If _I_ leave any," he warns.

Scott gives them both a look of disgust. "Danny's just your pet, Peter. Everyone knows it."

"Actually, you have no idea why I joined the pack. You have your head stuck so far up your ass, you don't even realize what a joke you've become," Danny retorts. He hates arguing, but not as much as he hates watching Scott self-destruct. "Why is Derek the one out there trying to find Stiles and Allison? Why are you on your ass here? Why are you the only beta not going to school?" Danny demands. "Your Dad walked out on you, and you're basically doing the same thing to the kid you helped make."

"Shut up. Now," Scott replies, tone low and dangerous. "Allison stole my kid. She didn't give me a choice."

"Why? Because it's hard to hear the truth? They've been gone nearly two years, and you're still playing the victim. You act like the world _owes_ you. Like it's the pack's job to deliver them back to you while you wallow here," Danny says, eyes openly challenging Scott.

"It's Derek's fault!" Scott yells. "He told me to stay away from Stiles and Allison!"

Peter is still present, still watching the exchange. He looks almost amused. "I suppose it's Derek's fault you listened? That you can't think for yourself?"

Scott growls again, but his anger is still focused on Danny. "Derek is the Alpha," he replies though not even looking at Peter.

"Even an Alpha can't keep a mated pair apart, and you know it," Peter's sigh is longsuffering. "And Stiles was like a brother to you."

" _'In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.'_ ," Danny quotes Eleanor Roosevelt at him.

Scott rolls his eyes dramatically. "I don't want to hear your psychology bullshit. You've taken one measly semester, you moron!"

"Maybe you should go to AA with the Sheriff and Derek. You need it more than they do. Except you're addicted to self-pity with a heavy dose of self-righteousness," Danny remarks, unimpressed.

Scott grabs the remote control, looks as if he's about to hand it to Danny before throwing it at the television instead, his supernatural strength more than enough to shatter the television screen and leave the remote in pieces. He glares at Danny one last time and storms out of the room.

"You're paying for a new one," Peter drawls after him.

"Screw you," comes Scott's response. They can hear him stomp up the stairs and a few moments later the sound of a door slams upstairs.

Danny looks at Peter with wide, disbelieving eyes. "What the hell?"

Peter shrugs. "It's hard to be a hero when you know you've screwed up that badly," the elder werewolf replies. He pauses, but starts again. "Scott's always wanted to be a hero. Deep down, he knows he betrayed both his best friend and his mate. But it's easier to blame everyone else for his problems. If he looks for them, that's like admitting he's partly responsible and he can't do that."

Danny stares. "Were _you_ a psychology major?"

Peter just chuckles. "I just had plenty of time to think. About people. Events. How they shape us. How we all react differently to the same external stimuli. Scott's no real mystery. Rather than facing his personal guilt, taking responsibility and moving forward, he's stuck. Until he's ready to grow up, he'll stay stuck. Unfortunately, some people never grow up."

Danny sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have you heard from Derek?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Yes, this morning. They're in Kansas, hammering out an alliance with the pack in Topeka. No word on our missing members," Peter sighs, the sound sad and more than a little resigned. He doesn't let Danny ask any more questions, lifting a palm. "I'm going to check the perimeter. You should read that book I recommended," he pauses, looking wryly at the remains of the flat screen. "Given the television is out of working order."

Danny snorts, glancing at the ruined electronics. "Right." 

The human settles back onto the sofa to read the book that Peter suggested on werewolf lore. There's room for the entire pack in the Hale house, if they choose to stay over, though most of the pack is now away at college several months out of the year. 

Despite being Christmas break, it's still mostly empty because Derek is rarely home either, always on the road in search of Stiles, meeting other packs, building alliances and networks of information. And when Derek goes out of town, he takes a majority of his betas with him if they're around. Currently he has Isaac, Jackson and Lydia in tow, while meeting with the pack in Kansas. Turns out, with the right motivation, Derek can conquer all sorts of social skills. He doesn't enjoy it, from what Danny can tell, but he manages. Danny can't help but be impressed with Derek's determination. 

Peter, Danny and Scott are left in Beacon Hills to protect the Hale Pack territory, not that there are many incursions. Between the permanence of the pack, Derek's new political alliances and having both a law enforcement and an Argent connection, they enjoy the same kind of stability that the Hale family had once maintained before the fire. 

It's really a shame that Derek is rarely home to enjoy it. The greater shame is that Stiles and Allison have been so long absent that they have no idea they were the catalyst. Derek has never been so focused, so comfortable in his leadership. Whereas the fire had torn down his confidence, this mistake forced him to mature, to face the issue head on and deal with it. Perhaps part of that is because Derek is older now, and more capable of handling himself, or maybe it's because his mishandling of Stiles and Allison is a mistake he can correct. There'd been no one to save after the fire. In any case, he's having poor results in finding Stiles and Allison, and everyone can tell the Alpha's becoming discouraged.

Danny reads a few chapters and then dozes off and on. He has no idea how much time has passed. He's not worried much about Scott attacking; the werewolf is far more bark than bite and the entire pack knows it. 

Danny is sleepily turning the page of his book when his cell beeps that he's received a text. He lazily pulls it from his pocket, but once he sees the message, he jumps to his feet racing for the front door. 

****  
From Peter  
To Danny 

**Bleeding out front. If you would be so kind--**

"Shit! Peter!" Danny practically trips over him on the front porch before he kneels beside the werewolf, eyes wide at all the blood. "What happened?"

"Take me to Argent," Peter just manages before passing out.

Danny springs back into the house, yelling for Scott to wake his ass up and help him with Peter. He keeps yelling all the way up the stairs, heading straight for Scott, who is prone in bed. 

"McCall! Wake up! Get your ass out of bed. Peter's been shot!" Danny shoves him. "We need to get him to Argent." Being human, Danny can't manage it alone, not lifting a nearly immobile werewolf.

Scott jumps up, shifting into his beta form without even coming fully awake and Danny just shakes his head at him. "That's useful. I thought Derek told you to work on your control?"

Scott makes no reply, doesn't even bother to shift back, just follows the scent of blood down the stairs and out the front door, to find Peter where Danny left him. He lifts the wounded werewolf without even looking at Danny, who is already racing to open his car door.

Peter comes to when Scott puts him in the passenger seat, emitting a pained sound that makes Danny wince. "Are you coming with us, dude?" Danny asks the other beta, but Scott just shakes his head and goes back toward the house.

Danny doesn't have time to argue with him, but he's pissed on a much deeper level than he had been over the television drama. He hears Peter sigh beside him. "Leave it. He's Derek's problem," the older werewolf murmurs hoarsely. Considering Peter is the one that turned Scott, that's almost laughable, except the entire situation is anything but funny.

Danny is already backing out of his parking spot, seriously worried about the werewolf bleeding out in the seat beside him. "What happened, man?"

"Hunters. Wolfsbane bullets. Couldn't find the ammo. I'm fucked if Argent doesn't have the right kind," Peter replies, voice weakening. Peter could actually die, so Danny is breaking every speed limit, hoping vaguely that Scott has thought to call Derek because he certainly hasn't had time.

Peter watches him from the passenger seat, and Danny can hear him trying to breathe through the pain. 

Danny has no idea how much Peter values him, considers him a solid addition to their little band of merry wolves, but he does note the thoughtful stare. "Wish you'd take the bite," Peter murmurs at him. Still, even human, Danny has plenty to offer the pack, and Peter is fond of him if for no other reason than the computer hacker harbors no obvious bias towards Peter. 

Danny would roll his eyes if the guy wasn't hurt so badly. They have a strange relationship, he and Peter. Oh, Danny's been told of Peter's history, but he tends to judge Peter on his actions now, and isn't that fortunate for Peter? 

"Tell Christopher -- five of them. With gas cans. Northern parking lot on the preserve," Peter voice is a pained whisper.

Danny hisses between his teeth. "I can't believe Argent didn't know there were hunters in _his_ territory. Are you sure we can trust him?"

Peter closes his eyes at that, but a smile ghosts over his lips. "Very sure. Trust him." He blacks out again, until he's being pulled from the car by Danny and Chris Argent.

"Who did this?!" Chris is enraged. Danny isn't sure if that's because there are Hunters in the Argent's territory or because Peter is hurt. Given the looks he's seen the two older men exchange, the lingering touches and the gentleness Chris is handling Peter with even as he vents his anger at the shooters, Danny decides it's probably both.

Danny answers, telling Chris everything he knows, but it's not much. He knows a stomach wound usually means a slow death, so he thinks it must the heavy dose of wolfsbane poison working its way through his body that's sapping Peter's strength. He can tell the werewolf is fighting it though, unwilling to give in. 

Danny follows Chris' instructions once they get Peter on the couch. Danny then watches the hunter open a bullet, hears the sound of a shell hitting the coffee table, the striking of a match bursting into flame, and then Peter is given blessed relief.

********

The next time Peter awakens, Danny is sitting in a chair nearby, feet up on Argent's coffee table like he's at home, watching the television. Danny glances at Peter as he looks around. They're in the family room, and Peter is on a sofa so wide it could be a bed. When Peter sits up, he looks at his shirtless torso to see the wound has healed completely. "You saved my life, Danny boy," he remarks.

Danny just shrugs. "That's what pack does."

"Indeed," Peter drawls. "And where is our host, my other life-saver?" 

"Cleaning up the bodies. Talking to the Sheriff," Danny answers, turning off the TV. "He told me to not let you leave. He wants to talk to you."

Peter smirks. "I'm sure he does. And I'd like to ask him what he knows as well. Though I think we know what they were doing in Hale territory. Probably testing Christopher's strength as much as the pack's. Not that I gave them the chance to explain."

"I called Derek. He said they'll be home in a couple of days. Since you're going to live and all, and you killed all the hunters, they're not rushing back," Danny smiles wryly.

"No, I don't imagine they would, nor should they," Peter agrees, getting up from the couch and slipping into a guest bathroom. Meanwhile Danny stands and strides into the Argent kitchen. When Peter returns, Danny is sitting again, but has prepared him a sandwich piled high with both ham and turkey.

"Ahh, would but Scott take lessons from you in the social graces," Peter sighs. 

"He's really fucked up. In the head," Danny sounds worried, handing him the plate. "Worse than I even realized, I think." He's been ruminating over how Scott acted and it's acutely concerning. "Do werewolves suffer depression?"

"He's a petulant child," Peter declares between bites. "Allison was wise to break it off with him. I can't tell you how many times I wish I'd bitten Stiles instead that night."

Danny lifts a brow at him, but Peter offers no other commentary on Scott. Or Stiles and Allison. 

"When you drove me here -- I heard your heartbeat when I mentioned you taking the bite. You want it. Why are you waiting? Planning to wait until after college graduation?"

Danny nods, but doesn't bother to defend his choice. He'd like to finish college without worrying about dealing with finals if they fall during a full moon, without trying to learn control when living in the dorms, without missing his pack any worse than he already does. He's heard Jackson and Isaac talk about how difficult it is, being separated from the pack; it's intense enough for him still human.

"You nearly died," Danny changes the subject.

"Indeed. But I didn't, thanks to you and Christopher," Peter replies. "We're not immortal; we can be killed after all." As Peter knows all too well.

"Do you think Stiles and Allison, and the baby -- are okay?" Danny asks. It would seem a random question, but it's not. It goes back to when Chris was working to save Peter's life.

After they knew Peter was going to be okay, the wound healing before their eyes, Chris Argent had washed his hands over the kitchen sink, and then leaned his head on a nearby cabinet. Argent had looked weary and worn and far more invested in Peter's well-being than a hunter had any right to be, at least from what Danny had been instructed by the other werewolves.

"It sickens me to think there are Hunters out there that are possibly -- no, probably, hunting my grandchild. Hunters with no code, who would think nothing of hurting an innocent baby," Chris had murmured, mostly to himself, but Danny had heard him clearly.

He'd barely suppressed a shudder at the thought. "Are you certain the baby is a werewolf?"

Chris had looked at him with pained eyes. "I have no idea. It doesn't matter. Either way they remain in constant danger." As if realizing he had an audience, that he was actually conversing with Danny about things he'd rather not, Chris has left the house shortly after that, with instructions to Danny - _"Make sure you feed him. He lost a lot of blood. He needs protein."_ Danny had of course assured him he would do so, and had in fact, made the meaty sandwich that Peter was now inhaling.

If Peter is surprised by Danny's question, he doesn't show it. "By now, I'm certain the wayward couple is either in another pack or dead. Not that I'd say as much to Allison's father or to my nephew. They need to keep looking and I support them in that endeavor. Never let it be said I'm not a team player."

"Argent was frantic," Danny comments softly, watching Peter carefully. "He was really -- invested in your -- not dying."

The older werewolf rolls his eyes. "That was subtle, Danny" he quips.

"Neither of you are subtle, so why should I bother?" A pause. "So why are you two still circling each other? Clearly he's into you." Danny asks. "And you're interested in him..."

Peter inhales deeply, and looks as if actually thinking of answering. Finished with his sandwich, he places his plate on a side table, wipes his hands and mouth with great care and then folds his hands in his lap.

"You and Lydia -- and even our absent Stiles, are my favorites," Peter finally replies.

Danny's brows furrow. "What does that have to do with you and Chris Argent?"

"Patience, Danny boy. Do you know what the three of you have in common?"

"We're all human still?" Danny answers, puzzled.

"There's something about the power of human love. It's healing, it's anchoring, it's a magic all its own," Peter reflects thoughtfully. "Not that I would like the three of you any less if you were bitten, but then, you wouldn't lose your human-ness, even so. Look at Scott, for example, he's losing his humanity every day, and doesn't even realize it. Or doesn't care. The three of you would never let go of your human side completely, even as werewolves."

Danny just peers at him, knowing Peter can take a while to make his point sometimes. This is going to be a long, winding tale apparently.

"Did you know that I was married to a woman? Human. We had two children, one born werewolf and one not; I loved them equally," Peter murmurs, his tone very controlled.

So controlled that Danny feels chills. "The fire."

"I lost them all. She might not have been my first love, but she was incredible. Such an amazing woman. She helped me heal, I think."

Danny still isn't following Peter's meandering introspection.

Silence settles in the room, Peter lost in thought several long minutes before he speaks again. "I've dated one man in my life. A human man. My mate."

Again, Danny just stares at him, lost. "I don't follow --"

Peter waves an impatient hand in the air. "It doesn't matter. Just remember this. Monsters are sometimes the humans. And sometimes, humans can only see werewolves as monsters - nothing more. So choose your loved ones carefully, Danny, especially once you take the bite."

Danny doesn't speak for the longest during Peter's next pause, doesn't prompt the other man. Fortunately, Peter does start talking again of his own volition. "Let me be utterly frank, but then, when am I not?" The werewolf sounds so amused with himself, but bitter too. "I'd gladly bed Chris Argent. Frequently. We've settled into a strange friendship of sorts, allies and yet not. But Chris Argent will never see me as anything more than a monster. And perhaps he's right. Perhaps I am a monster now, especially after everything human burned out of me in that fire."

Danny is about to speak again, but Peter shakes his head. "No, I'm done. I think I will shower off this dried blood. You don't think Christopher would mind me making myself at home, do you?" Peter smirks at Danny, and disappears into the bathroom again without waiting on an answer. Danny hears him opening several cabinet doors, presumably searching for the clean towels. 

He's unsure what to make of all that information, but Danny files it away for reflection later.

********

Chris Argent returns just as Danny and Peter are preparing to leave. The hunter stands in the doorway, as if blocking them, and even appears to be in a optimistic mood. "I have a lead!"

Danny shares a glance with Peter, who moves to lean on a wall, almost nonchalantly. 

"One of the hunters you killed received a text. About a family in Las Vegas, with a werewolf baby!" Chris goes on. 

Danny and Peter snap to attention.

"I'll book a flight for all three of us," Chris strides past them, moving toward his laptop.

"What about Scott?" Danny asks as he follows.

Peter puts a hand on Danny's shoulder, shaking his head solemnly. "Bad idea, Danny boy. We need to call Derek, have him meet us there, but Scott is the last person we want to tell."

"We don't even know for sure it's them," Chris calls over his shoulder, as if to assuage Danny of any guilt or responsibility.

Danny is actually amused; he doesn't feel any loyalty to Scott or compelled to tell him anything. He just didn't realize that McCall was actively being left out of the information loop though. He says as much.

"Pfft. If he acted like a reasonable werewolf, we'd treat him like one, but he would only make a possibly bad situation worse," Peter tuts. He turns away to call Derek on his cell phone while Chris buys their airline tickets.

Danny watches them both work in tandem, like a well-oiled machine. Within hours, they're boarding a flight to Vegas.

They're in first class, and Peter is nothing short of fidgety. Danny is sitting across the aisle, in the middle of the plane while Chris is beside the window and Peter between them. 

"If you'd just close your eyes and sleep, this would be a lot easier," Chris says in a low, deep voice. A voice that doesn't easily carry if you're not listening for it. And Danny is.

Peter shoots the hunter a glare. "What, are you offering to tranq me? No thanks."

"I know this is going to be difficult for you," Chris replies calmly.

"Just shut up," Peter snaps.

Danny looks at Chris with puzzlement.

"The whole ear-popping phenomenon is especially difficult for me," Peter answers before Chris can. "And the close quarters added to the cabin pressure -- well."

"Well _someone_ without a lot of control can't fly, period," Chris finishes.

Peter closes his eyes and ignores them both. For all appearances, it looks as if the werewolf has fallen asleep by the time they're in the air. Still, Danny glances over throughout the flight. He doesn't miss seeing Chris put a blanket over Peter's legs; he notices when Chris curls reassuring fingers around Peter's forearm as well.

He smiles to himself and studies the fabric pattern on the seat in front of him. It's a short flight, short enough that Peter doesn't have to feign sleep for very long at all. Peter even allows Chris' light, steadying touch without remark. Danny wisely doesn't remark on it either as they leave the plane with their carry-ons.

Danny finds a text as soon as he turns his cell back on to find that Derek is already waiting for them. He blinks stupidly at it in surprise before sharing it with Chris and Peter.

Chris snorts, while Peter beams. "The dear boy must have chartered himself a flight. It's always so lovely to see him spend that inheritance he doesn't think he deserves."

Danny sends a text back that they're heading toward the pick up area, as none of them had checked any luggage, and Derek pulls up almost as soon as they exit the building. He's in a black four-door Jaguar and Danny can't help but show his amusement. Derek in many ways is utterly predictable, particularly in his penchant for black vehicles.

"What, Hertz was out of Camaros?" Peter dryly teases his nephew before climbing into the back seat with Chris. Danny blinks at them, before getting into the front seat with Derek. He wonders if the pair of them are as obvious to everyone else; they act like a couple and yet _no_ one comments.

"Where are we going?" Derek asks Chris immediately.

"Excalibur," the Hunter replies, and Peter starts laughing. It starts out a chuckle, but it's a full-out belly laugh within moments.

"Oh, that's perfect. _Perfect._ Can't you just imagine Stiles in a castle? I wonder if he wears a sword at his waist as part of his uniform?" Peter chokes out.

Derek frowns into the rearview mirror. "Uniform?"

Chris tears his eyes away from Peter to look back at Derek. "They didn't tell you? The text we intercepted indicated that they work for the casino."

One of Derek's bushy brows shoots up. "They've been in Vegas all along?!"

"We don't even know if it's them. Only that there's a couple that works at Excalibur that supposedly have a werewolf child. That's all we know," Chris replies calmly. Peter is still chuckling, but now looking out the window thoughtfully at the same time.

They arrive at the hotel/casino without incident, pulling up to the valet and exiting the vehicle. Danny reflects that Derek probably wouldn't trust them with his own car, but a rental? He doesn't care a bit. He also notes how tired his Alpha looks, but he keeps his impressions to himself. At least for now.

Walking into the hotel, it's obvious, at least to the two humans, that Derek and Peter are scenting the air, looking at each other and then sniffing again. It's probably subtle to anyone else, but then, who looks for werewolves in their midst?

Danny comes up close behind them. "Do you smell something?"

"Damn hard with all the traffic, and I'm not talking about the cars," Derek grunts. "A bit of wolf, but -- too faint. Distant." And then he pauses, almost as if a dog on point. Danny's just about to get excited when Derek resolutely shakes his head, waves it off and starts marching toward the entrance. 

"All the scents are old and impossible to recognize," Peter adds. 

Danny frowns. "I wouldn't expect you to smell _any_ wolves around here."

Peter smirks at him. "What, you think werewolves don't go on vacation?" he teases. He's still laughing at Danny's answering eyeroll as they enter the casino to check into the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be along much faster than this one, and again, I hate how long readers had to wait for this one. This was a hectic time for my family, and then I came down with a nasty bout of bronchitis. And then relapsed. Ugh. Here's hoping for healthier times ahead.
> 
> I have to admit this chapter was much more difficult to write than the previous six as well. It started out in Peter's pov, but that one was quickly scrapped. It's second draft, once I switched to Danny's pov, is contained within the finished product, but it underwent a lot of restructuring and changes. Thanks to my betas, I was finally able to produce a chapter I wasn't ashamed to post. Fortunately, the rest should write easily.
> 
> I probably say this every time, but I continue to be overwhelmed and overjoyed with the response to my story. Thank you all for reading, for leaving kudos and taking the time to comment. It's nourishment for this writer's soul, I tell you. And I can't thank you enough.


	8. {now it's just necessary}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Allison have a talk that's a long time coming, and make an important decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Imbolc (a03) and sterekshipsailing (tumblr) are made of all things lovely. Thank you both for beta-reading, input and encouragement. <3!
> 
> Warning: This ends on a cliffhanger. And while I've already written a great deal of chapter 9, if you don't like waiting on that cliff, feel free to wait for the next chapter before reading this one.

Chapter 8  
\- Allison -  
{now it's just necessary}

_About a month before the Hale Pack arrives in Las Vegas_

Allison, having worked the night before, crawls out of her warm bed near noon, eventually making her way to the kitchen with its small dining table and mismatched chairs. It matches the rest of the tiny apartment - clean and homey, but very simple. At the table she spies her two favorite people in the entire world; Stiles and their daughter talking and giggling together and Allison can't help but smile.

The smile fades to astonishment when she sees the turkey. Not even a turkey, not any more. It's a carcass. Picked clean.

"Oh my god, are you serious?!" she exclaims. "I bought such a big bird so it would last at least a couple of days. I thought we'd have leftover turkey sandwiches for work and --,"

Stiles holds up a hand cutting her off, a smirk on his face. He then nods to Luna who walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a plastic container full of turkey meat.

"Now don't you just feel silly?" Stiles teases Allison and she turns a little pink in embarrassment.

"We did eat a lot of it though," Luna giggles with eyes wide, rubbing her tummy, and Allison can't help but laugh at her brash admission. Times like this, Luna really reminds her of Stiles.

Luna isn't quite two, but she looks and acts more like a four year old child. Allison would say it takes some getting used to, having a child with such rapid, accelerated growth, except it happens so fast and right before her eyes, she doesn't really know anything different. She'd had no siblings, after all, and so this is normal in her world. Her world where both her best friend and her daughter are werewolves.

"Right, and now that you have a full tummy, you need to brush your teeth and take your nap," Stiles informs her.

"But Daddy --," comes the immediate whine, but both her Daddy and Mommy are shaking their heads in solidarity. 

"You know you need a nap," Allison cuts off the whine.

"Growing werewolves need their rest," Stiles adds. "Besides, we might go for a run later."

The little girl's entire face lights up, and she flashes her mother's dimples. "Really?!"

Allison can't help but notice the pride and fondness on Stiles' face as he nods at Luna. He's truly her father in every way but blood. He'd fight and kill to protect them both and in fact, has.

"Really really," Stiles promises. "But you need to take a nap first."

Luna apparently knows when she's thwarted, and this scene has played out many times before, so she stomps off down the hallway to crawl into bed. But not before she hugs and kisses each of her parents, and not before she noses their necks. Allison follows behind, tucking her into the spot she herself just left and then returns to the kitchen where Stiles is disposing of what's left of their Thanksgiving turkey.

"I'll even make you a sack lunch to take in tonight," Stiles tells her. "Turkey sandwich on toast."

"You don't have to do that. I'll make one while you're out in the desert."

"I'm off today and tomorrow. You should let me help, but nooo," Stiles draws out the word. "You're a strong, independent archer who don't need no man," he teases with a smirk.

She flashes her dimples at him as she pours herself a bowl of cereal, biting back a yawn. 

"You should have slept in later," Stiles says, watching her.

Allison shrugs at him. "I wanted more time to see Luna today. Besides -- we need to talk."

Stiles arches a brow before taking a seat at the kitchen table again, eyes locked on her face. He holds up a finger, and then zones out, listening for Luna. "Okay, she's already out. So. Sounds serious."

"I thought I saw one of Dad's -- affiliates last night," Allison goes on, sinking into one of the other chairs after grabbing a napkin. She places her bowl so deliberately on the table, that Stiles' nose twitches ever so slightly.

"I'm going to assume it wasn't a Hunter or you would have called me immediately, and we'd already be on the road," Stiles finally replies.

"It wasn't who I thought so no, not a Hunter," Allison answers. "But it got me thinking --," she begins. She doesn't need to finish the sentence. Stiles does it for her.

"It's time to move on."

Allison looks at him with a sad face and nods. "I don't want to, but we've been here a long time."

"I was thinking the same thing," Stiles admits. She shouldn't be surprised they're on the same page; they so often are.

"I mean, we've been really lucky here. We've only had to defend the territory a few times. Other packs rarely come into Vegas, and we've got good jobs --," she trails off, as if trying to talk herself out of it.

"We've both managed to get Associate degrees though, which is more than we expected to accomplish by now. And we've got a little bit of savings. But we're tempting fate, and we both know it," Stiles sighs, but sounds more resigned than upset. "We should find some place more remote, some place Luna isn't stuck in an apartment so much of the time. She loves to run and we don't get to nearly enough."

Allison nods. She knows it's hard on the two werewolves, especially her daughter, having to restrain herself from wolfing out. She doesn't have complete control yet, not that they expect her to at her age, but she needs more freedom to be herself. She eats quietly a long moment before tapping her spoon on the edge of the bowl. "What about Cam?" she asks quietly.

Stiles frowns then, looking completely unhappy. "Well I guess that's up to you. I mean, I've been waiting on you two to get serious. If you haven't by now, I figured it just wasn't --"

Allison splutters at him so hard that he doesn't finish. She has to wipe milk off her lips and off the table as well. "What?! Us? Me -- and Cam?"

Stiles wrinkles his nose, as if he can smell her confusion and it feeds his own. "He's into you. Has been for months. I thought you were going slow at first, but then I decided you just weren't interested in him as more than friend?"

"I thought _he_ was into you!" Allison exclaims. "I was waiting for you to make a move on him!"

Stiles' eyes go wide. "What?! I'm not interested in Cam."

Allison can't help it, she starts laughing. "Oh my god, Stiles. Are you sure you weren't holding back because you thought I was into him?"

"Absolutely not," Stiles answers. "He's a great friend, he really is, a nice guy, but -- not for me."

"Well, I feel the exact same way about him," Allison nods with a little grin. Stiles returns it.

"So, I guess Cam's a non-issue to our leaving," Stiles surmises.

"Well, except he's a good friend, and I'll miss him," Allison agrees.

Stiles is nodding. "Same. But we can't tell him about us, and we can't take him with us and we'll just have to cut ties. As cleanly as possible."

Allison goes back to her brunch, chewing thoughtfully. "So when? Should I clean out my locker tonight?

"Since there isn't a direct threat, we should wait until we get our Christmas bonuses," Stiles shakes his head. "Sell the car, get a different one. Hell, Cam is always saying he wishes he had a classic Bug. We could sell the VW to him, a sort of going away present."

Allison nods in favor of that idea. "We can tell him we're getting something more family friendly."

Stiles snorts, but agrees. "He's started asking lots of questions about our kid. That's one reason I thought the two of you might be -- getting closer." They've been careful never to introduce him, but that's getting difficult, the longer they've been friends with the guy.

"You know, I made it clear right from the beginning that you and I weren't a couple, in case you liked him," Allison admits.

Stiles snorts again. "Seriously. He's not my type."

Finished with her cereal, Allison goes to the sink to rinse out her bowl, the silence not uncomfortable between them but feeling expectant nonetheless. "We've never talked about it, but I think it's time," she finally continues the discussion, hip leaning against the counter. She may look casual, but they both know that the new topic is anything but.

" _It_ what?" Stiles intones carefully.

"Your type."

Stiles shifts in his chair, fidgeting almost. Becoming a werewolf had helped his focus, so much so that he isn't a flailing bundle of nerves anymore; the movement speaks volumes about his discomfort. "You know I'm bisexual. Cam's just not my kind of guy."

Allison shakes her head slowly. "Stiles, you haven't dated _anyone_ since we left. At first, I thought it was because you were focused on helping me. And then I thought it was because you were worried about your control. But we both know you have the best control of any werewolf I've ever known."

Stiles' face becomes a neutral mask, and he arches an eyebrow. It's his only response.

"Stop that. You don't get to hide with me."

"Do you really want to discuss this? Because if we're discussing what I think we are, you're not going to like points that come up on your side of the conversation either," Stiles snaps. He's not above blackmailing her to stop this right now.

Allison lifts her chin and crosses her arms. "I'm ready. Let's do this."

Stiles looks surprised. "Scott." He arches a brow again, a clear challenge this time.

"Derek," Allison counters.

Stiles' face spasms before he schools his features to relax. Allison feels a pang of guilt, but still presses forward. "You haven't gotten over Derek."

"You're still attached to Scott," Stiles replies. She can tell by his tone of voice that it's not admission on his part. Still, their friendship is based on honesty and their ability to challenge each other to be their best. More than anything, it's about supporting each other. That's not about to change.

"Look, bringing this up would have been cruel when we first left, but now it's just necessary. We both need to move on," Allison says, more gently. "Cam would have been ideal boyfriend material."

Stiles snorts at her yet again. He's done more of that since he was bitten, though it's not an animal sound. She's heard his animal snorts and they're a lot cuter. "Says the woman that wasn't interested in dating him either."

"At least I've looked at other guys," she points out.

"Have you dated anyone? No."

"I've talked to a few. I've considered it," Allison protests. "None of them were worth the hassle."

"Really?" Stiles answers dryly. "That's what you're going with?"

"Look," Allison tries again. "We were a couple of high school kids that fell for werewolves. And we both lost them...," she trails off because Stiles is shaking his head at her.

"I never had him," he states so plainly that Allison's heart hurts for her dear friend all over again. 

"We need to move on," Allison whispers. "I want to see you happy." She offers a wan smile, attempting to tease. "I want to at least see you get laid."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Who says I haven't gotten laid?"

Allison perks up, rushing over and sitting at the table. "You've been holding out on me."

"Not really," he answers. "I was tired of being a virgin. So after work, I've hit the club a few times. It was," he pauses, trying to find the right words. "Really not a big deal. Any of them."

"Oh, Stiles. That's...worse," Allison whispers, her dark eyes shiny with emotion. "It should have been a big deal. Should have been -- good."

Stiles huffs at her. "Make up your mind. You want me to get laid, but only under certain conditions?" he scoffs. "Besides, it's like pizza. Even when it's not the best, it's still good." And this time, he offers a grin, an effort to lighten the mood.

Allison does smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Girls? Guys?"

"Both. And I haven't in a few months. Just --," he sighs. "I think the part of my brain that's infected with lycanthropy would prefer I find one serious significant other instead of one night stands. It's that territorial thing, I guess." 

Allison reaches out to hold his hand, palm up on the table and is relieved when he clasps her hand in return. "What if your wolf has already chosen for you? While you were still human?"

To Stiles' credit, he doesn't pull away, though she can tell he wants to at her words. He inhales sharply, and finally squeezes her hand tight. "Then I'm fucked. And not in the fun way."

"You could somehow contact him, and see if -- I mean, since you're a wolf now, that might change things?" Allison suggests carefully. 

Stiles looks offended and worse, hurt. "Are you insane? You think I'd leave you and Luna for - for...for some asshole that never wanted me?!"

Allison swallows hard. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know you love us, but you deserve more than what we have."

"What we have is pretty damn awesome. We're a family, Allison. _A family._ And that's way more important than keeping my dick occupied, thanks," Stiles answers so intensely she can't help but believe him. He waves his free hand in the air between them. "What is this about? I mean, do you want to get rid of me? Is there someone besides Cam? Have you been in contact with Scott or something?"

"Oh Stiles, no! None of the above. I adore you. I just want you to be happy, and for a while, I thought Cam might be the right guy. But I'm realizing you're not getting over Derek," Allison sighs.

"Are you over Scott?"

"Yes and no. Sometimes, not very often, but sometimes my head has to remind my heart that we broke up for a reason," Allison answers with bald honesty.

It seems to inspire some of the same out of Stiles. "Derek never so much as kissed me. Even before he kicked me out of the pack, he had started ignoring me. There was nothing there. Nothing I should miss," he murmurs.

"But you do miss him." It's not a question.

"Every day," Stiles says it so softly that she almost doesn't hear him, biting his bottom lip a long moment. 

Allison stands so she can move to Stiles' side, wrapping him in tight hug. "Fucking werewolves," she mutters. "Of the Beacon Hills variety, that is."

"Fucking werewolves," Stiles agrees, standing and embracing her in a bear hug. "I'm not going back with my proverbial tail between my legs. There's nothing and no one to go back to, and I love my life with you and Luna."

"You had to kill someone for us," Allison whispers into his shoulder, running her fingers up through his much longer hair. He hasn't had a buzz cut in a very long time.

"Do you think I feel bad about that?" Stiles replies calmly. "He attacked us, not the other way around. He made it no secret that he wanted Luna. I didn't have a choice." He tilts his head so he can look at her, angling down since he's grown taller. He's bulkier now too, yet still lean. He's all muscle though, and it's not all just because he's a werewolf. She's watched his intensely demanding work out plenty of times.

"You were amazing," Allison smiles up at him. "I don't think I realized until you had to fight, just how suited you are to being a werewolf." She sounds proud because she is.

Stiles doesn't comment, always uncomfortable with such praise. Allison makes sure to give it to him anyway because it's genuine and she thinks he needs to hear it.

"I'm not going to let anyone or anything hurt my girls," Stiles assures her with a smile of his own.

"I guess it works for us," Allison finally decides aloud. "We're both still far too attached to the wrong people, and we don't expect anything more from each other."

Stiles shrugs, loosening his hug. She's relieved that his smile is a lot more relaxed now. "I'm not giving up all hope that we'll meet people. But I'm not stressing over it."

Allison nods. She can live with that. She can live that way as well. She's not unhappy.

*******

They're packing up their new-to-them SUV, ready to leave Las Vegas at last, a couple of weeks after they made the decision. The city has been good to them, and they're all a little sad to leave it behind. They both got jobs at a casino shortly after arriving, and Allison had eventually been promoted to blackjack dealer. The hourly wage was nice enough, but it's been the tips that have helped cushion their savings. Stiles had been a jack-of-all-trades, doing everything from parking cars to working the front desk, even some bartending. They've been careful to work completely different schedules, never the same shift, so that someone is always home with Luna. It's been a good gig, so much so that they hope to find similar positions in the future - using different names of course. They can't use their glowing recommendations from Excalibur, but that's okay because they've got experience under their belt.

"So, Mississippi for a while, and from there we can decide on Florida or Atlantic City," Stiles comments while they lean in the doorway, waiting for Luna. Their daughter is going to each room, saying goodbye to the walls and the closets. Fortunately, it's a small apartment and it won't take long. They're in no rush anyway. It's late afternoon, since Stiles likes driving at night, and they hope Luna will sleep until they stop sometime the next day.

The coast of Mississippi is very much a tourists' haven, with casinos dotting the Gulf Coast beaches. Who knows, they may stay longer than a few months if they like the area and deem it safe. What matters is moving on from here; Las Vegas certainly feels like they've remained past their expiration date.

She's about to reply when Stiles' cell phone rings, and he reaches into his jean's pocket to retrieve it. His keys come out with it, but he doesn't pay them any mind. He's too busy frowning at the number. "Unknown. I'm not answering," he decides. The only calls they ever receive are from their work and from Cam and he has those numbers programmed in. It's only after he shoves the phone back into his jeans that he really looks at the key ring.

"Dammit. I didn't give Cam the spare car key. Check on Luna while I call him? I'll see if he's at work or at home, and get it to him."

"I can't believe how happy he was to buy that piece of junk," Allison muses. 

"Hey, that was a good car. Still is," Stiles protests. "Anyway, I'll call him real quick."

Allison nods, and then wanders down the hallway to find Luna standing in the bathroom, patting the door. This place has been her territory for most of her life.

Allison squats down, opening her arms and Luna falls into them, hugging her tightly. She's wolfed out, and Allison is so accustomed to it that she doesn't think twice. "It's hard, I know, baby girl. But we'll find a nice place where we're going. We're going to try and rent a house this time. With a backyard. Maybe a forest behind it," she coos.

Luna's got tears in her eyes, but she's trying to hold them back. Allison looks into her face and strokes the pad of her thumb over her daughter's furrowed brow. "It's okay to cry. Saying goodbye is hard."

"Daddy says we have each other and that means home," Luna answers, sounding as if she's quoting him verbatim.

Allison gets choked up and nods. "Your Daddy is both smart and wise."

Luna simply nods solemnly. She talks very well for her age, developing so much faster than human children, but she usually doesn't talk much. They worry sometimes, that she's not getting enough socialization so they both converse with her - a lot. It's certainly given her a solid vocabulary and a sophisticated manner of speaking. Given her natural curiosity, they find themselves explaining all sorts of things, from how to make pancakes to the subject matter of their schoolwork. (They'd both completed an online program, something they plan to continue once they resettle. Neither will be content until they have at least a bachelor's degree under their belt.)

Luna's strong too, and Allison can feel it in her tight hug. She and Stiles don't bring her around other people much, for obvious reasons, but when they do, she easily passes for a four year old for both her size and her verbal skills.

"Okay. I'm ready to go," Luna whispers, and Allison hugs her tight once more before releasing her.

Allison gives Luna a grin. "Not quite ready," she answers, waving her own fingers in the air.

Luna looks down at her claws, and nods. The little girl scrunches up her eyes and takes a deep breath. A few meditative breaths and she begins to look like a very human little girl. 

They're holding hands when they come into the empty living room (they'd sold their furniture -- not that it was worth much), and Stiles is leaning against the front door.

"So," Stiles begins. "Cam says I left my red ballcap in the Bug. Which he left at home because he locked the keys in it." He's already chuckling because this is so like Cam. In some ways, Cam reminds him of Scott - the old Scott. The Scott before the Alpha pack. Cam has a good heart and a generous soul, but he's not always the sharpest mind in the room. "So I need to go by his place, and drive it up to the casino for him."

"How did he get to work?" Allison asks, already knowing the answer. 

"He got his sister to drop him off," Stiles replies nodding. It was one of the reasons that Cam was so stoked to buy the Volkswagen; he and his sister were always at odds over rides. She felt like Cam, at 21, was more than old enough to have his own wheels. Of course, now the guy did. "Anyway, I told him to put this spare in his locker at work or something. It'll give me a chance to say goodbye since we didn't work together my last shift."

"Except he doesn't know we're leaving," Allison reminds him, not that Stiles needs the reminder.

"No, he won't know it's goodbye. He thinks we're taking a Christmas vacation," Stiles agrees. "So, why don't the two of you go for an ice cream or something while I take care of this. I'll call you when I'm ready and you can pick me up from casino." Stiles kneels down next to Luna. "Can you keep from shifting if you go for ice cream?"

Luna nods enthusiastically. Stiles grins and ruffles her hair before standing and doing the same to Allison. She bats at his hand. 

"Call me if you need anything or get nervous?" Stiles says very seriously.

"Of course, and same for you," Allison promises. They know this town well, and besides, Luna can warn her mother if she smells another werewolf with plenty of warning, but it feels weird separating this close to leaving town for good. 

"Thirty minutes give or take," Stiles assures her, and presses a quick kiss to each of their cheeks before heading for the bus stop.

Allison and Luna climb into the very packed SUV and ten minutes later, they're eating ice cream cones.

Luna's focus is completely on her two scoops of chocolate when Allison receives a text message from Stiles.

To Allison  
 **Unknown called again. Going to find a spot and call back after I drop the car off. May be longer than 30 minutes. Keep you posted.**

To Stiles  
 **Okay. Be careful. Let me know where to pick u up.**

Allison feels antsy after the text. She watches Luna carefully, and of course her daughter picks up on her nerves.

"Mama?"

"Daddy's just gonna take longer than he expected," Allison explains quickly, hoping to reassure her, and Luna goes back to licking the chocolate dripping down the side of her cone.

Allison alternates between watching Luna savor the sweet treat, and observing their surroundings. They've run into a few werewolves since living in Vegas, but Stiles has always managed to get the trespassers to leave their family unit alone - either by posturing or fighting. Well, he's only been forced into fighting one, and that had ended decisively with Stiles the winner and the interloper dead. The rest of the werewolves that they've encountered have accepted that the Vegas territory is claimed, and if Stiles managed to convince them they were a larger pack than in actuality, well, Stiles is cunning that way. He would present himself as a beta representing the local pack Alpha, and he has managed it convincingly, more than once. In truth, it is just them, their Alpha-less trio, unless you count Caroline, which they don't. Besides, she has let them be.

"Why are you worried 'bout Daddy?" Luna's small voice interrupts her reflection and Allison reaches over to wipe her daughter's mouth with a napkin. Allison knows that Luna thinks Stiles is indestructible, practically omnipotent, but Allison recognizes that's not true. Even werewolves can be hurt, and just because Luna idolizes her Daddy doesn't mean Allison thinks he's infallible. Oh, she trusts him completely, but she doesn't trust external factors -- like other werewolves and Hunters.

"I'll just feel better once we're back together and on the road," Allison answers, giving Luna another reassuring smile. "When you finish, we'll go to the bathroom and get you cleaned up," she adds. There's a lot of ice cream on that cute little face. 

Luna gives her an impish grin. Somehow she manages to look like both Scott and Stiles. The smile is pure McCall, but that roguish glint in her eye? It's all Stiles. At least the dimples are Allison's.

*****

Allison hasn't heard from Stiles. She's texted him, followed by a phone call, and received no response. She's seriously worried as she buckles Luna into the backseat, intent on going to the casino to find him. She doesn't need werewolf senses to know something is wrong.

She's about a block from Excalibur, the sun setting a glare on her windshield when Luna begins growling from behind her. If Allison had hackles, they'd be ruffed. "What is it baby girl?" she asks, shoving on a pair of sunglasses.

"Werewolves," Luna manages to answer, though her fangs have dropped and she's agitated and discomfited, shifting in her seat.

Allison's eyes are scanning all around them as they are stopped at a red light. She's looking at the people strolling about them, looking for any signs of supernatural creatures taking an unwelcome interest in them. She hates feeling like idle prey, like someone could pounce on them any moment. When the light turns green, she heaves a sigh of relief, moving forward and hopefully closer to Stiles. She _needs_ to find him.

The cacophony of sounds and sights that erupt in the next instant are too many, too varied for her brain to parse. She doesn't know what's more frightening, the vehicle racing toward her having run its own red light, or the familiar face of Derek Hale staring at them with wide eyes from the sidewalk. There's the sound of breaks, of a car horn, of squealing tires. Her heartbeat is thundering in her ears as she spies the car about to slam into the side of their SUV. But the loudest of them all are Luna's growls, punctuated by a scream. It's her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Don't shoot me. I did warn about the cliffhanger. ;)
> 
> Your comments and kudos continue to bring me both joy and awe. Thank you so very much for loving my fanfic! I wish I could hug you all and give you freshly baked chocolate chip cookies!


	9. {a long road ahead}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the car accident, new bonds are forged. But with Stiles still missing, everyone is unsettled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a big enough thank you for Imbolc (a03) and sterekshipsailing (tumblr) for their excellent beta-reading. They are both awesome in their own right, and have my gratitude and friendship forever. Any remaining errors are my own.

Chapter 9  
\- Derek -  
a long road ahead

The Hale pack checks into two rooms, side by side, and Derek immediately tasks Danny to hack into the casino computer system to get a look at employee records. While Danny's on that, the rest set out to patrol the place, splitting up.

Derek is doing a scent check floor by floor when on the fourth he smells a werewolf. The scent is unfamiliar, but definitely lycan. He texts Peter the room number and then boldly knocks on the door. A man, actually a werewolf, in his late twenties opens it, looking resigned.

"We're only here to visit my wife's parents," he says shortly, crossing his arms. Derek looks beyond him to see a human woman, holding a werewolf infant. "She wanted to see them for the holidays. I didn't know there was a pack in town," he explains quickly. He then uncrosses his arms, moving into a negotiating stance, tilting his head ever so slightly to one side baring his neck.

"We request permission --," he begins, and Derek waves a hand cutting him off before he can finish.

"I'm here visiting too," Derek explains and the beta automatically relaxes.

"Oh. Well. We won't infringe on your pack's territory and we ask the same," the strange werewolf offers. "We don't visit often, but the grandparents haven't seen their grandchild yet."

The werewolf's wife gives Derek a nervous smile, snuggling the wolfling against her shoulder. Derek nods. "You haven't met any other werewolves since you got into town?"

"Not exactly the kind of place to build a pack," comes the response. Derek can only agree. Packs rarely claim territory in tourist towns with their continually shifting inhabitants. It was one reason he'd thought Stiles might have chosen it; it was a brilliant idea, and exactly Stiles' brand of clever.

Derek bids the couple a Merry Christmas and takes his leave. Peter and Chris are standing at the end of the hallway, having listened in obviously.

Derek's jaw is clenched tight when he reaches them. "They must be who the Hunters were talking about. Their child is a werewolf," he sighs. He can't hide his disappointment. He'd thought they had finally found Stiles -- and Allison. 

Peter sighs. "We aren't at all sure. They could still be here."

Derek shakes his head. "I'm going for a run," he answers instead of arguing. This is just another defeat piled on top of all the others.

"Well, Peter and I are going to keep looking. That family -- they aren't employees here," Chris declares, unwilling to give up.

"Where do you plan on running?" Peter asks; he seems to understand that Derek needs to be alone for a while and for that, his nephew is grateful.

"I'll drive out to the desert. Tell Danny I'll be back by dinner tonight," Derek announces, nudging past the pair and making his way down to the first floor via the stairs. He doesn't see the look of concern pass between Chris and Peter. It would probably irritate him if he did. He doesn't need their pity. He just needs to find Stiles. He's long since given up on fantasies of making things so right that Stiles would accept him as a mate. He just wants - no needs - to see Stiles healthy and alive. He wants to see Stiles reunited with his father, and back home in Beacon Hills where he belongs. He wants to protect Stiles, and offer his friendship. Derek has long since accepted he loves Stiles Stilinski. He just doesn't feel he deserves reciprocity; he probably never did, but after fucking things up as badly as he has, there's no question.

He walks briskly toward the valet counter when he freezes in place, inhaling deeply. He spins on his heel, eyes zeroing in on a valet just returning with someone's vehicle, handing over the keys and accepting his tip with an open, friendly smile. He's pocketing the bills when Derek approaches him. He smells so strongly of Stiles that at first, Derek thinks they must be lovers. Until he realizes the scent is saturating the guy's vest more so than his person.

"Hey," Derek calls out to him. His instincts scream at him to threaten, but he's learned better tactics. 

The guy, who looks about 20, gives him a grin. "Hey, can I help you, sir?"

Derek nods at the vest. "That's not your uniform."

The employee's eyes widen briefly and he glances down at himself. Derek notes his tag proclaims his name is Cameron.

"Now how would you know that?" The kid seems to have an epiphany. "Oh my god! You must be a friend of Tom's! Or family? No wonder they took time off. They didn't tell me they had visitors coming in during their vacation!"

Derek simply nods, going along. Danny has told him, repeatedly, that you can catch more flies with honey. "They didn't know we were coming in. It's a surprise," he answers neutrally, giving nothing away.

Cameron nods as if that makes perfect sense. "That's awesome, man. I promise, I won't tell him he's got company in town." He tugs at the vest. "They just sold me their old Bug. They got something a little more family friendly. He left this in it so I borrowed it," he explains. He gives a general nod in the direction of the employee parking lot across the street.

Derek lifts a brow. "They sold their -- Bug?"

"Well yeah. Like I said, they wanted something better suited for a family," Cameron replies.

Derek gives him one more glance, before taking off toward the car. He expects to have privacy when he scents the vehicle, but Cam is following him.

"Call me Cam. Everyone does." Derek is so focused on finding the car that he is basically ignoring the casino employee on his heels. "They have mentioned me, right?!" He sounds a little hurt, and perhaps a little suspicious. Derek is acting rather strangely all things considered.

Derek forces himself to put back on the deceptive, polite smile. "Cam. Of course. I didn't connect...," he trails off.

"Right. They don't have many friends so you know," Cam shrugs. 

Derek makes a noncommittal noise in reply. He can feel his heart racing. This is closer to Stiles than he's been in years. He easily spies the only Bug in the parking lot, and speeds up his stride. 

Derek's about to tap out a text to Peter when Cam starts talking again. They're approaching the old Volkswagen and Derek can smell Stiles' scent even stronger. He runs a hand over the top of the vehicle, almost a caress because this car had belonged to Stiles. And just recently. 

Derek knows now, irrefutably, that the child had been born a werewolf. The scent is so strong that it almost overpowers Stiles' own. He glances inside, can see the indentions of a car seat on the upholstery and feels his heart pound harder. 

"You know, you just missed him," Cam prattles on and Derek jerks his head toward him. "He dropped it off and picked up his cap."

Derek is suddenly in Cam's space. "How long ago?"

Cam looks confused at the change in Derek's demeanor. "Like, ten minutes, maybe?"

"Where was he heading? What's he driving now?"

Cam is clearly uncomfortable, and Derek takes a step backward. "He was heading toward the bus stop," Cam answers carefully. "Going home. I'm going to assume you know where he lives." Suspicion blatantly seeps into Cam's tone, but Derek is beyond caring, beyond keeping up the facade.

Even so, Derek knows he's almost screwed up. He also knows he's got a trail to follow and a name for Danny. "Of course. We're all heading over to his place, as soon as we unpack. I'll tell -- Tom, you said hi."

Cam nods, and then shrugs. "Well, I better get back to work. Unless you want me to get your car?"

Derek shakes his head. "Thank you, but I think I'll take a walk." He takes off on a light jog, leaving a bewildered Cam behind. Derek texts Peter and Chris to meet him downstairs. He's heading for the bus-stop, his nose intent on tracking Stiles.

He probably looks strange to others on the sidewalk when he walks right into a bush, practically diving into the vegetation. He retrieves a red cap, and knows without a doubt it belongs to Stiles. He stands, pressing it against his face and begins walking again. Except the trail stops -- back where he just found the cap. He retraces his steps, and it's as if Stiles disappeared from that spot, but Derek is still several yards away from the bus stop. He looks up, glancing around because it's becoming clear that Stiles got into a vehicle and that's when he sees her.

Allison is at a red light, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as if she's nervous. He watches her shove on a pair of sunglasses, almost too stunned to move when she meets his gaze. There's a brief, dizzying moment of recognition when a car slams into the driver's side, the sound of the crash nearly deafening to his sensitive ears.

He's running at the car, terrified he just witnessed her death. The front windshield is shattered, completely gone, and Allison is slumped over the steering wheel. The worst of it is the driver's side that's been smashed in. He jumps onto the hood for the quickest, easiest way to reach her and his nose is assaulted with the smell of pungent iron and the sight of bright blood. 

His eyes dart to the back seat where he sees a little girl, a little werewolf girl to be exact, slumped unconscious in her carseat. There's no blood there though, unlike her mother. He spies a piece of metal in Allison's thigh, a part of her car door that's now mostly crushed into her body, and he presses his hand against it, trying to stop the surge of blood pouring from the wound.

She stirs enough to moan, but all Derek can sense is fear and pain. 

"Shh, you're hurt, Allison. Just stay calm," Derek whispers. "I'll protect you both. I promise..."

She makes no response, and Derek feels desperate. He spares a quick glance at the driver that hit her, but frankly, he doesn't care if the stranger is alive or dead. His sole focus is protecting Allison and her child.

Chris and Peter have caught up to him, racing to the car. He hears Chris cry out, and feels Peter jump up onto the hood of the SUV beside him. "Oh fuck," Peter whispers, taking in Allison's condition. 

"She's gonna bleed out," Derek grimaces, still attempting to staunch the worst of her wounds. 

"Bite her." The words come from Chris, who is crawling into the backseat from the passenger's side door. The child is wolfed out, probably from the scare of the accident, and still passed out. Chris is tugging a blanket from the back of the SUV, the back that's filled to the brim with luggage Derek notices absently.

"What?!" Derek manages to respond with no small amount of alarm. Even Peter is looking at Chris with something akin to shock.

"Stop arguing and do it!" Chris barks back. "You said she's bleeding out. Fucking bite her so she can heal!" He's pulling the child, his grandchild, from the carseat, checking her over. 

Derek is saved from answering by the sound of a siren, and he glances up to see an ambulance only a few blocks away. "They can save her," he finally manages to answer Chris properly. "They can save her and keep her human too. I can't -- I won't turn her without her permission."

Peter is still staring dumbfounded at Chris, but neither Chris nor Derek are paying the man any attention.

Chris looks desperate, wrapping the child in the blanket, covering her head. "If she dies because you're too worried about pissing off Stiles --," he cuts himself off.

"If she dies, it's the fault of that other driver," Derek bites back. His only concern is saving his pack, and that includes Allison and her child. He won't force them to join, but they will always have a place. If Allison or her child dies -- he'll hunt down that driver. If he's even alive.

Peter shoves at Derek, moving to take over. "Let me do that. You need to take the kid to our rooms before the ambulance gets here." Peter now sounds utterly calm and completely in control.

Chris is wrecked with worry. "Why won't she wake up?" he cries, talking about Luna.

"She's so young, it's normal. Her body knows what it's doing. She'll heal faster if she's asleep," Peter replies. "Derek, now! We can't explain why she's shifted and can't make her shift back. Get her out of here. Chris and I will accompany Allison to the hospital." 

Derek passes a decisive glance between the men and then removes himself from the hood of the vehicle. He rushes over to Chris, holding his arms out for the child. He's surprised at how easily Argent passes her to him. "Take care of my granddaughter," Chris says gravely. Derek nods once and then, before the surrounding crowd gets any closer and can get good look at him, takes off toward the casino.

All his senses still on high-alert, he catches part of Chris and Peter's exchange.

"You're in shock. You didn't really want Derek to bite her," Peter says plainly.

Chris disagrees, and Derek can hear the sincerity of the words in his heart. "It's still an option. Preferable to months of recovery, by far."

Peter gasps at him. "You'd prefer she become a monster?" Derek doesn't quite understand the pain in those words, but it hurts to hear in his uncle's tone.

"I don't think werewolves are monsters," Chris bites out in reply.

Derek has no idea how Peter responds, his focus on avoiding the assembling crowd and getting the child out of sight. He's a little stunned by how quickly everything just happened. It felt like eons, but really only moments passed between the time he had reached Allison and the time he had left the scene with Luna. The blanket successfully covers the blood all over Derek's hands and arms, as well as the little girl's werewolf features.

He huffs out a sigh of relief as soon as Danny opens the door to their hotel room and he's safely inside. Derek can practically see the millions of questions on the tip of Danny's tongue, but bless the hacker's heart, he doesn't ask anything right away. Instead, goes to the bathroom, turning on the hot tap to wet some washcloths.

Derek grabs a pillow off the bed, placing it on the bathroom counter before gently laying the child down atop it. He and Danny silently clean Allison's blood off the little girl even as Derek checks her over more thoroughly for injury. All he finds is a bump and a bruise on her head, one that's already beginning to fade. "She'll wake up soon," he rasps. He sounds broken, and he feels it too. Stiles will never forgive him if Allison dies.

****

Thirty minutes later, Derek has taken a lightning fast shower so the baby won't see her mother's blood on him, and is holding the child on the sofa. He's filled Danny in on current events, and the younger man keeps vigil with him over the little girl. When he'd taken off his jacket, he found the red cap; apparently he'd automatically stuffed it down the front when he raced for the crash. He has it on Luna's head now, knowing the scent will soothe her when she first awakens.

Danny is just sitting down at his laptop to investigate any and all Toms working at the casino when dark eyes with long lashes pop open and eye the man holding her warily. She stiffens, and Derek straightens the cap on her head. "You're okay. We won't hurt you," he murmurs. She slides off his lap and takes several steps away, eyes darting between Derek and Danny before growling at them. She's fearless, and Derek is impressed.

"We're friends. Of your parents," Danny tells her, and she relaxes a fraction. At least the growling stops.

"We don't know your name though. But we're friends of Stiles and Allison," Derek adds. "I'm Derek. And that's Danny. We're watching you for a little while. Do you remember the car accident? Your Mommy is with a doctor. I'm going to take you to see her soon." He's trying to remain calm, for the child's sake. Inside, he's worried sick about both Allison and Stiles and so far, there's been no word on Allison's condition. And no one has a clue where Stiles is or if he's even okay.

"Where's my Daddy?" She asks the question so simply, but it's like a punch in Derek's gut. Stiles is a father and though Derek knew it would be like this, it hurts that Stiles has built a family. 

Part of him wants to take off and search for Stiles, but he knows Stiles would want him to care for his daughter. So he stays. 

And he's actually quite fascinated. The little girl is such a mix of Allison's looks and Stiles' personality that he feels a swell of affection for her already. She's eyeing him with skepticism that's like an echo of Stiles' own in the past.

"We haven't found him yet. I'm sure he'll come for you as soon as he finds out what happened," Danny answers as he pulls a candy bar from his laptop case, offering it to her. She snatches it from him before retreating again. "You smell - like I should know you," she murmurs, confused. 

"Probably because we know your parents," Derek nods. He gestures at her head. "That's your Dad's cap. I thought you might feel better if you were wearing it." 

She puts a hand on top of her head, touching it, and it's so big that it covers part of her face. She turns her nose to one side, inhaling deeply. She of course knows it by sight, but smells comfort her more than anything, just as Derek expected.

He has often wondered about Allison and Stiles' relationship, how it has evolved. Clearly they're a parental unit to this little girl, and most likely a couple now. He almost can't bear thinking about it, and he has to remind himself that he has no claim on Stiles. He should be happy for them, that they've not only survived but created a home together. 

"Would you tell us your name?" Danny asks politely. 

She bites her bottom lip. "My real name or my fun name?"

"Both?" Derek suggests in a tone so gentle that Danny looks at him impressed.

She bites into the candy, chewing thoughtfully despite her small fangs and then swallowing before answering. "My fun name right now is Mavis." A pause. "But if you're friends of Mommy and Daddy, I guess you can call me Luna."

Danny beams at her, and then beams at Derek. "Luna. Like the lunar phase of the moon? That's beautiful."

Luna just shrugs at them, more interested in the candy at the moment.

Derek clears his throat. "So your Dad's fun name is Tom right now."

Luna is chewing again, eyes locked on him. "We don't call his a fun name," she finally replies. " _Mine_ is fun because I get to pick it out." She sounds vaguely disappointed in Derek as she climbs onto the couch again. Not into his lap though, instead at the other end. "You're an alpha, aren't you?" she asks.

Derek nods.

"Can I -- see your eyes?"

He flashes them red and she cracks her first smile. "Wow," she sounds awed. She might scoot toward him, so she can peer closer. "I want red eyes," she admits.

"You just might be an Alpha one day," Derek replies, tone sincere. "I can tell you're going to be a powerful werewolf."

Luna beams at that, finally crawling back into his lap. "Let me see your teeth," she demands, completely unabashed.

Derek cocks his head back, shaking it and letting his fangs descend. When he peers back at her, Luna pushes up his top lip to get a better view, poking at one of his teeth. 

"Have you met any other werewolves or is Derek your first?" Danny asks, curious.

Luna goes incredibly still, and then promptly climbs off Derek's lap as quickly as she her little legs allow. She looks at them both, wary all over again, and Derek's eyes narrow at her, trying to figure out what just happened.

When Derek shifts back to human, Luna begins growling again. "I thought you said -- you said you're friends with my Mommy and Daddy," she accuses, as if betrayed.

Danny's expression is perplexed as he glances to Derek. Derek is staring at Luna.

"We are, but we haven't seen them in a while," Derek answers carefully.

Luna snarls at him. "Are you a bad friend or a bad wolf?"

"I don't understand...?" Danny begins, but Derek holds up a hand to silence him.

"I've made some mistakes," Derek answers Luna very honestly. "I have been a bad friend, and probably a bad wolf too, in the past, but not anymore. I want to help you and your parents."

"Then why don't you know my Daddy is a werewolf?" Luna asks.

Derek just stares at her a long moment, from across the room, Danny makes a noise of shock. She gazes back at them with uncertainty. "I want my Mommy and Daddy," she finally announces. It's punctuated by a stomach growl, which she seemingly ignores.

Derek swallows hard, trying to survey what this announcement means. Aside from the obvious, that somewhere along the way, some time in the last two years, Stiles was bitten. It makes sense though, especially the pervasive smell of werewolf from their former VW. There's not one, but two werewolves in the family. He mentally smacks himself for not smelling it at the car.

Derek receives a text before he can respond to Luna's demand, and it's Peter, letting him know that Allison is in surgery. He swallows hard. "Your Mommy is still with the doctor. We haven't found your Dad yet. But I promise you, we will." Derek glances to his beta. "She's hungry. Can you go get Luna something to eat?" Having just healed from the bruise to her head, she needs nourishment. 

Danny instantly agrees, ducking out of the hotel room, and Derek is left alone with Luna. Who is still staring at him. Not at all impressed. He's seen that exact expression on Stiles' face as well.

Luna then crawls into a chair across the room. Her claws are scraping over the fabric, but not tearing it. She stares at Derek again.

"I'm sorry," Derek whispers to her. He means that on so many levels. "I didn't know your dad had been turned since I last saw him. I bet -- I bet he's a great werewolf."

Luna nods at that, even smiling briefly. "He's the best," she answers proudly. She clearly thinks her Daddy hung the moon.

"He is. Even before, when he was human, he was the best," Derek murmurs in agreement.

****

Eventually Danny returns with food for all of them, which Luna happily devours. Yet another thing that reminds Derek of Stiles.

She settles down for another nap, while Derek stands at the window, staring outside. Impatient, he calls Peter.

"She's just out of surgery. In recovery. She's now in serious condition, rather than critical. Christopher still wants you to give her the bite," Peter murmurs.

Derek huffs out a breath. "I won't do it without her permission."

Peter sighs into the phone, and then passes along the message while Derek listens. Derek can hear Argent in the background. 

_"Then tell him to be here waiting when she wakes up."_ The Hunter sounds very certain Allison will agree to it. _"How is my granddaughter?"_

"I don't understand...," Derek begins, when Peter interrupts.

"I'm not sure I do either, but that's not important right now. How is the child?"

"Her name is Luna and she's -- perfect," Derek breathes out.

Peter hums. "You were always good with the younger ones. I think you should come up here now, if you can get her to shift human. If she can maintain it."

"She shifted back to human shortly after she fell asleep. She's -- I'm thinking she can control it just fine. We'll be there as soon as she wakes up. I need to start searching for Stiles," Derek agrees. He doesn't tell Peter about Stiles' transformation, not yet. There's time for that at the hospital.

Soon thereafter, Derek, Danny and Luna arrive at the medical center where Allison has been admitted, making their way to the ICU waiting room. Derek is feeling proud at how easily Luna maintains her human form, but the little girl is nervous, clinging to his hand as they enter the hospital. The smells are strong for a werewolf, and he sympathizes with her discomfort. Danny holds the door open for them.

Peter is waiting, squatting down so he can introduce himself to Luna before moving toward ICU to let Chris know they'd arrived. He returns with Chris, who simply stares at his granddaughter a long moment, as if in awe. 

When Christopher gets on his knees in front of her, tears in his eyes, everyone looks away for a moment. The scene is touching, Luna meeting her grandfather for the first time. She finally lets go of Derek's hand to give Argent a hug. He smells like family, and she can't help but respond.

Chris, of course, doesn't want to leave his daughter's side for long, and has Luna on his hip when he returns to Allison's cubicle, leaving the pack behind in the waiting room.

"So. Stiles is missing?" Peter asks.

"His trail disappeared a few yards from the bus stop. He must have got into a vehicle," Derek replies. "Something is wrong."

"Indeed. I can't imagine he wouldn't have felt their distress on some level," Peter agrees.

Danny clears his throat. "There's something else. Something we didn't know."

Peter's forehead crinkles. "It's been two years. There is plenty we don't know about them."

"Clearly," Derek nods. "But this is unexpected." A pause. A sigh. "Stiles is a werewolf." Stiles was bitten, and somehow Derek feels as if he's let Stiles down, like it's a personal failure.

Peter doesn't look terribly surprised. "That certainly explains how they've managed on their own all this time. Stiles' intelligence combined with enhanced abilities? Potent."

Derek can only nod, heavily taking a seat in the waiting room. 

"So why does Chris want Allison --," Danny trails off as a nurse walks by them. 

Peter moves to the chair next to Derek, indicating Danny should sit too.

"She's suffered extensive injuries. She has broken ribs on her left side, one of which punctured a lung," Peter answers. "The torque caused spinal damage as well so her ability to walk again is in question. She has months of rehabilitation in front of her in any case. The wound in her leg was actually one of the less worrisome once it was repaired in surgery."

Danny hisses a breath between his teeth and Derek just looks shattered.

Peter gives his nephew a wary look. "I can almost hear you blaming yourself. How is this your fault?"

Derek stands jerkily, walking over to the window. The city lights make him squint, but he's not really seeing the view anyway. "They wouldn't have been here at all if --," he trails off, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Derek, you didn't cause this wreck," Danny begins, about to get up and go to the other man, but Peter stays him with a light touch.

"While I usually enjoy, perversely even, seeing you recognize how you've wronged Stiles, this time, it was completely out of your hands," Peter utters smoothly. "For what it's worth, the driver was drunk. And texting."

"God. What an moron," Danny huffs.

Derek jerks around to face Peter, and though he doesn't speak, his uncle seems to read him anyway. "Not to worry. He's dead."

Derek makes a noise of relief. "I need to go find Stiles," he mutters. Because that's something he can do. Because he has to do something. He can't just stand here, waiting.

Just then, Chris Argent appears again, still holding Luna. "She's awake again," he beams, relief all over his face. "Derek, come. Talk to her."

Derek isn't sure what to expect from Allison when he quietly enters her room. Fortunately, it's visiting hours, but she's only allowed two at a time. Chris stands just outside the door while Derek is inside. This time, Derek has Luna in his arms. The little girl wouldn't wait to see her mom again, and no one was going to make her.

Allison looks frail, a myriad of tubes and monitors attached to her body. She's been cleaned up, but Derek can still smell blood. Looking her over, he figures it's in her hair, and he gives Luna a reassuring squeeze.

Allison stares at him with a wide gaze, as if unsure how to feel about Derek Hale comforting her daughter. She has a oxygen mask over her face, and a steady stream of pain medication entering her through an IV bag, but her eyes are surprisingly clear. Derek sits down in the chair beside her, glancing over his shoulder at Chris watching the scene through the glass window.

"There's...," Derek has to pause, to find the words, to clear the crack in his voice. "There's so much I want to say to you, but I'm not allowed to be in here long. More than anything, I'm sorry. I'm just so damn sorry. I made so many mistakes, and I wish I could go back and fix them."

Allison bites her bottom lip, tears forming in her eyes. When Luna rolls out of his arms onto the bed to cuddle against her mother's side, Derek doesn't stop her.

"Your father wants me to give you the bite," Derek continues. "I refuse without your permission. I know you've got a long road ahead of you to recover, but I know what a strong woman you are. I know you can do whatever you set your mind to. So there is no pressure from me to go through with it. You are welcome in Beacon Hills no matter what. And while I would consider it a privilege to have you in my pack, I'm not going to pressure you into that either."

He watches as Allison's hand slides up her own stomach, over her sternum to pull at the mask on her face. Finally understanding her intent, Derek moves to help her, though he frowns with worry as he does so. "Allison, I think you need this." Still, he eases it off her face.

"Dad says that Stiles is missing," she rasps, ignoring her need for the oxygen mask.

Derek nods. "I was tracking his scent when I saw the accident. He got into a car apparently, on the way to the bus stop."

Allison swallows hard, shaking her head slightly, with great effort. "He wouldn't have done that. Not by choice."

"I was afraid of that. I -- I don't know what happened," Derek is forced to admit.

"I've talked to my Dad. He's told me -- all you've done. To find us," Allison whispers.

Derek can only nod. "I did you both wrong. Your Dads though, they miss you. They --," he searches for the words. "The Sheriff misses Stiles so much. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since you two left. And Chris would never hurt Luna. Or you," he feels compelled to assure her.

Allison slides her fingers into Luna's hair, and Derek notes the wolfling has fallen asleep pressed against her Mom. He feels a swell of emotion all over again.

"She's wonderful. You and Stiles are great parents," Derek croaks.

Allison's gaze sharpens. "We're her parents, but we're not together."

Derek can't hide his surprise. He doesn't really try either. "I would have thought that --," but he's cut off by Allison.

Her voice is surprisingly strong given her condition. "You love him." It's not even a question.

"I wasn't searching for you just to get him back. I know I've fucked up," Derek shakes his head at her. "You've been in a lot of danger, and I just wanted to protect you. All of you. And bring you home."

Allison shoves the oxygen mask over her face for several long moments, inhaling deeply before talking again. "My best friend in the whole world is a werewolf. My daughter is a werewolf. I'm looking at a year's worth of rehab and that's a really optimistic outcome. If I take the bite, do I have to accept you as my alpha?"

Derek's answer is immediate. "No! I would welcome you to the pack, human or werewolf, but that's completely your choice. I wouldn't force it. You have a pack with Stiles and Luna. You three could continue as you are. Even in Beacon Hills."

Allison closes her eyes a long moment. Derek has to look away when he spies a tear dripping from the corner of her eye. When she opens them, Derek can see determination in their depths. "I won't join your pack unless Stiles does too."

Derek lets out a breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding. "You actually want the bite?"

Allison nods. "But I won't be your beta. Not without Stiles."

Derek is already nodding when she continues. "You have to find him. He would be here by now if -- something's wrong."

"I'll find him. I promise," Derek means it too. He frowns a little. "Do you want me to get your Dad?" Derek asks softly, worry clear.

"Just shut the damn curtains and do it," Allison answers forcefully before shoving the oxygen mask back onto her face.

****

Derek leaves the hospital in a daze. There's a scent that Allison and Luna carry, one he's coming to recognize as their pack scent. One that's pervasively strong and completely mixed with Stiles' own. He doesn't know the circumstances of Stiles' transformation, but none of the three are alphas. As much as he's curious, he doesn't question Allison about it, given the stress she's under already. He leaves Allison in her father's care, knowing that Chris and Peter will handle her quick recovery and her exit from the hospital so that Derek can focus on finding Stiles.

He had meant his promise to her. He will not rest until he finds Stiles. And he will never force the issue of any of them joining his pack. He wants -- oh how he wants. But more than anything, he needs to safeguard the trio from any further harm. Based on his conversation with Allison, she plans to return to Beacon Hills if Stiles agrees, but even if they do, that doesn't mean he can do more than watch over them from a distance. He can live with that. Having them back with their families would be a reward in and of itself.

First he has to find Stiles though, and he has very little to go on. He drives back to the casino, parking his car and jogging toward the bus stop again. Back to the spot where he found Stiles' cap. 

When the van pulls up beside him, Derek feels the answer in his gut. This is the van that picked up Stiles. Against his will. 

"We have him, you know," the driver confirms.

Derek's eyes narrow on the stranger. "Where?"

"Get in and I'll take you to him."

Derek doesn't hesitate. When the sliding door opens, he crawls inside the vehicle.

"That was easy," another man remarks, sitting in the back seat. "The boss said it would be."

Derek can't form another question, not before a needle slams into his neck. Whatever is in it knocks him out cold, and he has no memory of the drive. 

He doesn't wake up until they're dragging him down a flight of concrete stairs. He tries to use his supernatural senses, but they're still offline. The light is dim in the basement type room, but he sees a cage. He can see a figure slumped on the floor. He feels a foot shoved into his back when they kick him into the cage, slamming the door shut and locking it. 

Derek doesn't care, ignoring his kidnappers to reach for the still body on the floor. "Stiles? Oh my god, Stiles! Are you all right?" Stiles is more than passed out. He's beaten and bloody. His feet are bare, and apparently injured, but Derek can't assess any one part of him thoroughly for the shock of seeing him at all. He does note that Stiles' hands are in cuffs, behind his back. Derek wonders why they haven't restrained him the same way.

One of their abductors snorts. "He's been out since we gave him the last shot."

"What did you do to him?!" Derek shouts. He's answered with laughter.

"That crap we put in you, it inhibits your wolfy powers. We gave you a bigger dose since his wore off so fast and we had to dope him again."

Another of their captor's continues. "How's it feel being human? Enjoy it. Because we're not going to forget you're actually animals." The speaker spits at them.

There's more laughter. More insults. More threats. But Derek isn't listening, too busy trying to ensure Stiles is going to recover. If they've messed with his healing capabilities, this is bad. Very bad. 

The light is turned off, and he's left in darkness, alone with Stiles. He hears the door at the top of the stairs close, a lock turn, and then fading voices. Voice he could still hear if not for the shot they've given him.

"Stiles. Come on, wake up," Derek's tone is plaintive. He can't even rely on his night vision to see; he can only hold Stiles' broken body gently. He's certain Stiles is completely unconscious, which only worries him more when he at last hears Stiles' voice for the first time in years.

"You _idiot_. You idiot asshole! Why the fuck do you smell like my family?" Stiles bites out with no small amount of fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is Stiles POV!
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and commenting! I'm so grateful! <3


	10. {no plans to die today}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles find out who's captured them. And why. Stiles thinks it is the absolute worst, being forced to work with Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More details in my end notes, but huge apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I had no intention of taking such a long hiatus, but life happened. And kept happening. I'm truly sorry for making you wait for so long.
> 
> Maybe this long chapter can at least partially make up for it.
> 
> Season 3 has jossed a lot of this fic, but it's canon compliant through the end of season 2 at least? 
> 
> A huge thank you to awildgrantaireappeared & imjustsofangirl for being the best beta-readers in the world. THE BEST! And if you're not following their tumblrs, you should be.

Chapter 10  
\- Stiles -  
{no plans to die today}

Saying farewell to Cam is hard, knowing it will be their last bro hug, their last conversation. But not as hard as the knot in his stomach every time his cell vibrates again, still not showing a number. The increasing frequency of the calls speaks of urgency, and Stiles feels it all the way in his bones. Walking out of the parking lot after pushing his cap on his head, he fires off a text to Allison, letting her know he'll be longer than expected. The next time his Unknown Caller attempts to reach him, he plans to answer. He spies the bus stop a block away, and meanders in that direction. Now that he's decided to accept the call, he just wants it over with, whatever and whoever this conversation involves.

Fortunately, he gets his wish. Not even halfway to the bus stop, his phone vibrates again and he answers it, ears already straining to pick up any clues from background noise before the other voice even speaks. "Who is this?" Stiles sees no need for frivolous niceties.

"Well, thank heavens you finally saw fit to pick up," drawls Caroline, and the knot in Stiles' stomach hardens into lead.

"How did you get this number?"

Caroline huffs a little laugh, amused but not mocking. "Oh, son, all packs worth their salt have a hacker on board. Besides, did you really think I wasn't keeping track of your whereabouts?"

Stiles growls, he can't help it, and Caroline's soft tenor turns into a sigh.

"Down, boy. I let you leave to do your own thing. Just because I feel responsible enough to look out for you, doesn't mean I'm invading your little pack of three," the Alpha assures him immediately.

Stiles isn't sure whether he believes her or not. It's unsettling enough that she knows where he is and apparently has all this time. "Then what do you want now?"

"Still no thanks for the gift I bestowed upon you?" Caroline asks. It sounds like a genuine question of what -- concern? Confusion? Stiles isn't certain.

"Stop answering my questions with questions. How do you know where I am?" Stiles demands this time. He doesn't feel the slightest compunction to cower or submit to her, and that surprises him.

"When you left, I had Rory follow you, of course. You spent the night in Fort Worth and then drove to Vegas. Excellent choice, by the way," Caroline replies, her compliment apparently sincere. "I'm glad your body accepted the bite so easily, but then, I knew it would. Some women are born to easily carry children and give birth, some people are born to easily become -- more than what they were born."

Stiles huffs at her this time, eyes scoping the area all around him. His nose is working, too. There are no werewolves around, no obvious threat, and yet it feels as if danger is lurking. It must be Caroline's nonthreatening threat from across the miles. Her private knowledge of him and his family is alarming to him.

"I repeat my earlier question. What do you want now if you've known my whereabouts all along?" Stiles asks again.

"I'm calling to warn you," Caroline turns dead serious. "Someone is looking for you."

Stiles fights down the clench of terror creeping along every spinous process in his back, but it finds it's way to his shoulders anyway, making them taut with stress. "Who?"

"An Alpha from California just visited one of my allies in Kansas. Was showing photos, and asked to be introduced to other Alphas so he could visit our packs as well. I declined," Caroline answers. Stiles doesn't detect any hint of lying.

"Did this Alpha learn anything?" Stiles questions, surprised at how calm he sounds.

"Not that I'm aware of, but I thought I should give you a heads up." Caroline sounds as if she's waiting for something more from Stiles.

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and then tugs off his cap, shoving it under his arm and running nervous hands through his hair. "You didn't have to warn me," he finally says, voice soft.

"I am not your enemy. Now, why don't you finally introduce yourself to me properly?" 

Stiles shakes his head, as if to clear it, or maybe in negation of Caroline's prompting. "Look, we were already moving on. You might even know that already. In any case, I need to go. I'll call you when we get settled again."

"Then you still have my card." It's not a question.

"Of course." Stiles responds, glancing skyward as if the blue sky above has answers for him.

"Oh, good. Then mail back my book," Caroline chuckles. "Now go get your family to safety."

"Right." Stiles is about to say more, but she clears her throat.

"Son, I don't know why this Alpha is still tracking you after all this time, but I suspect it's not only about the child," Caroline murmurs.

"Why else would he be after us?" Stiles' tone is bitter. "And don't call me _son_." He hangs up then, mind churning with so much information, he doesn't notice the van pull up the curb beside him until it's there and the door is being thrown open. 

Two men grab him, and he's inside the van before he can fight them off, before he can even parse what's happening. He's wolfing out, ready to fight, but the jab of a needle into his neck makes his world go black. Stiles' day just got worse.

**** 

He awakens in a cage, and not for the first time, ponders why Hunters are so determined to think of werewolves as animals. It's a philosophical discussion he's had with Allison in the past, but there's no real answer. They had finally come to the conclusion that Hunters were like anyone else -- there were bad ones and good ones, crazy killers and reasonable people just trying to keep the world safe for humans.

He picks himself off of the concrete floor, standing and trying to use his enhanced senses to determine where he is or who has him, but they aren't working. Stiles remembers feeling like this, when he was still human. If not for the distinctive scent of wolfsbane and bullets when he was first grabbed, he wouldn't even be certain that it was Hunters at all. He supposes he should be glad it's Hunters and not Derek. At least when the mystery injection wears off, he can fight them easily. After all, they hadn't even hooked him up to electricity.

Still, he is the one in a cage, but he can be patient, and bide his time. 

He looks around, but the only light in the room is a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. It barely illuminates a circle of room underneath, leaving the corners dark. The shadowed staircase on the opposite wall and the windowless interior indicates he's probably below ground. He should be scared, but mostly he's annoyed. It's imperative he and Allison get far away; hopefully this time even Caroline won't know their location.

A door opens, and Stiles stands his ground in the middle of the cage, planting his hands on his hips. It strikes him then that he's lost his cap, and it's just another reason to be pissed at his kidnappers. If only he had his werewolf abilities, he could bend those bars and attack. His eyes narrow on the two men descending the steps.

"Oh, look, he's awake," one speaks, his voice raspy as if he'd been born a smoker.

"Go call the boss and let him know," the other man, a blond with a redneck drawl orders.

Stiles watches them, unimpressed.

"You should wipe that look off your face. Ain't jack shit you can do after we dosed you," Blondie laughs. It's a cruel laugh, hinting at someone who enjoys violence.

"Why have you taken me?" Stiles gets down to business.

"Shut up. You don't get to ask questions. 'Sides, you ought to know why you been taken. Trash like you," Blondie retorts.

"Oh, I think we both know who the trash is in this room," Stiles smarts back. He can't help it; it's in his DNA.

Blondie spits at him, most of the chew in his mouth landing on Stiles' arm, but enough hits his cheek that there would be fangs if only Stiles could let them drop. Blondie just laughs.

"Boss says we can rough you up, but we have to keep you alive. Dead bait won't do us no good if we need you to make a phone call," Blondie crosses his arms.

"And who or what am I bait for?" Stiles asks. Then grins. "Look what you made me do. I ended a question in a preposition. You'll have to pay for that." A pause. "Oh wait, do you even know what a preposition is, dumb ass?"

Blondie's eyes narrow at him, but before he can respond, Smokey returns, coming down the stairs briskly, excitedly. "Got him. He's pleased as punch! Said we should be ready soon. He thinks the target is already in town."

Stiles cocks a brow. "Who's your target?"

Smokey glances at Stiles, eyes a little wide. "Well, Derek Hale, o'course. We know the Alpha will come for one of his pack."

Stiles can't help it. He laughs. Oh, Derek is after him all right, but it has nothing to do with pack bonds. Derek is after his daughter. He couldn't care less that Stiles is being held hostage. In fact, Derek might just take advantage of the opportunity that Allison and Luna are unprotected, if he even knows where to find them.

He's going to count on his family being gone from Las Vegas long before Derek can get there. Still, he's laughing and the two Hunters are still staring at him, pissed and getting angrier by the moment.

Stiles bites his bottom lip, halting his desperate, amused laughter. He can’t help thinking that this is just the most ridiculous thing to ever happen to him. Ever.

"I don't know who your _boss_ is, but he's misinformed. I'm not in Derek Hale's pack," Stiles informs them. 

Blondie is already opening the cage, Smokey moving in behind him. "Then we'll let our boss kill you when he sees we've taken the wrong werewolf. _If_ we have. Either way, you're dead. In the meantime, we'll have some fun."

Even without werewolf reflexes, Stiles manages to duck the first punch, the one aimed for his head, but by then, Smokey has pinned his arms behind his back so the next punch, aimed at his stomach, hits home. Thing is, pain is pain, whether werewolf or human. The only difference is how quickly injuries heal, but once the shot wears off, Stiles is certain he'll heal fast. He just needs to endure in the meantime. If he focuses on Allison and Luna, he has no doubt he'll manage. And in time triumph.

**** 

The thing about being beaten, the key to surviving, is finding a safe space inside the mind. Stiles tries to ignore every kick, punch and jab. He mostly succeeds, though it only seems to anger the Hunters more that he's mostly checked out of the proceedings. That is until he feels the pain speeding up his adrenaline, therefore his metabolism, burning the drug out of his system faster. He recalls Derek doing that in the station, the night they were all kidnapped by Matt, and so he brings his mind back to the present. He insults the Hunter duo as eloquently as his smart mouth knows how, wanting them to hit him harder. He's a bruised, bloody mess, but he can feel his head clearing all the same. He can feel his fangs tickling in his gums. He can feel his claws itching under his fingernails.

When the drug is gone enough, he doesn't hesitate to attack. He takes out Smokey easily, considering he's still holding his arms. It's nothing to turn his head and let his fangs descend, and he feels a bone-deep satisfaction in the death. No guilt. These men want him hurt and eventually dead, and there's no remorse in killing them first.

Blondie backs off, and before Stiles can turn on him, he's already stepped out of the cage, locking it behind him. Stiles snarls at him, eyes glowing in the dim room, fingers curling around the bars and pulling at the metal. He's not back at full strength, but he finds enough to bend them apart, intent on getting out and destroying his other captor. 

There must be at least one more, in addition to the boss. There was the driver, but if he can just get out of the cage, Stiles is confident his speed and skill will free him in no time.

He simply has to get out of the cage before Blondie can return with reinforcements. He bangs his head against the bars, not just in frustration, but to trigger more adrenaline. It works, especially when he repeats the motion, and he's able to pull the bars wide enough to slip between. 

Stiles stalks up the stairs, and he no longer feels like the prey in this situation. When he enters what appears to be a modest house, he finds himself in a mudroom off a kitchen. Blondie is on the other side of a kitchen table, lifting a gun, but Stiles is on him before he can fire. He breaks his captor's neck, feeling more animal than human in that instant. Again, he doesn't feel guilty. They had taken him, locked him in a cage and beaten him; this is justice and escape.

He makes for the back door when it opens, and a hooded figure holding a dart gun stands between him and outside. He hears and smells another human enter the kitchen, the driver, and Stiles puts his back to the counter so he can see them both.

"Mr. Stilinski. You've certainly changed." The voice that comes from the doorway is familiar. And distinctive. It sends chills over the back of Stiles' neck. The last time he'd heard that voice, the old man was screaming about mountain ash. Fucking Gerard Argent.

"Why now? After all this time, you're after Derek now?" Stiles can't help but ask, his words thick from his fangs, but clear enough to understand. He's tensed and ready to fight, but the driver has pulled a pistol from his pocket. The scent of wolf's bane bullets is unmistakeable.

"You sound surprised. As if I ever intended on stopping the hunt," Gerard chuckles, the sound bitter. He shrugs off his cloak and hood, and Stiles is repulsed at the sight of the geriatric Hunter. The mountain ash that Scott had laced those pills with had certainly done a number on the man. His flesh, what Stiles could see, was mottled with patches of dark discoloration, and his veins were black lines under his skin, as if his blood had been permanently replaced with viscous goo. "Do you see what your pack did to me? What Derek and Peter Hale did to me?"

Stiles arches a brow. Technically, didn't Scott do it? What's with the Argent obsession with Hale pack? And if we're being brutally honest -- "You did that to yourself."

Gerard's eyes narrow and Stiles stares at him a long moment. Even his eyeballs are permanently streaked with black sludge.

"When your Alpha comes for you, I'm going to make him watch me kill you," Gerard grits out, charcoal tongue licking his spittled lips. "I've already killed the rest of his pack. The ones he left in Beacon Hills. Burned his new den to the ground."

Stiles is repulsed. As much by Gerard's appearance as his admissions. In fact, Gerard now looks like what's inside his heart - mindless, dark hate. Stiles may have his own strong opinions against the Hale pack back in Beacon Hills, but he's never wished them dead.

"Derek would be a complete idiot to come for me," Stiles finally replies. Gerard might just put a wolfsbane bullet in his brain this instant if Stiles denies being a member of Derek's pack. Hell, the crazy old man might do it anyway.

And Stiles knows Derek isn't coming. The Beacon Hills Alpha might be an asshole, but he's no idiot. Not to mention Derek just really doesn't care about Stiles one way or another. "But if he does, you're dead." Not because he gives a shit about Stiles, but because he's going to want revenge for anyone Gerard has hurt in his pack back in Beacon Hills. 

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," Gerard replies, and Stiles can only shake his head at him. He has no plans to die today and certainly not at the hands of a geriatric psychopath. Without warning, Stiles leaps for the window over the kitchen sink, crashing through it. 

He nearly makes it. He's so very close to freedom, but there's another Hunter outside waiting with gun raised, and the dart that penetrates his flesh is a double shot of the same substance they hit him with before; he only makes it a few yards before he blacks out yet again.

**** 

When Stiles wakes up, he's back inside the cage. They've managed to twist the bars back into place, and Stiles lies there staring at them. They're not pristine, the metal now awkward like a bent fork, the prongs never quite the same smoothness again. He takes inventory of his body and he's definitely worse than before. His werewolf mojo is zapped again, and he's still not fully healed from the first beating, but there are more injuries now.

His hands are handcuffed behind his back, and he can smell blood even with his very basic human senses. And more than blood, something foul, but he can't place it. There's something really wrong with his feet, but it's a weird numbness and less painful than the rest of him so he ignores it for now. In truth, there are too many injuries to assess all at once, and he forces himself to start at the top of his head and work down. He wonders briefly if they enjoyed beating someone dead to the world, and figures they probably did.

He wiggles his arms, already asleep from the awkward angle in the cuffs, and rolls to a different position. The limbs tingle, his fingers literally hurting from the sensation and he smiles. Pain. He can use it.

He assesses every injury, prodding at them against the concrete beneath him, purposely making them hurt, making them bleed. He bangs his forehead against the floor, not hard enough to knock himself out, but enough to give him a pounding headache. 

The room is dim, but his eyes have now fully adjusted. It's then Stiles stares down at his feet, now seeing that they are both bare and burned. Not even burned, but charred and smoldering. He wonders that the pain isn't more acute, given the damage, and then realizes that means the nerves are truly fucked. Part of him wants to laugh at the overkill; don't they realize that if wanted to stop him from running, they should have stopped at second degree burns? He probably won't feel much of anything if he stands on them right now.

He's just about to push himself up and test that theory, when there's a noise upstairs. He closes his eyes and feigns unconsciousness, biding his time so the drug will wear off again. Part of him wishes he felt every bit of excruciating pain in his feet, so that he could use that extra adrenaline like he did before. 

What Stiles expects (another beating) and what comes down the stairs, are two very different things. Though maybe when they toss Derek Hale into his cage, it's a different kind of torture.

When the light is flipped on, Stiles keeps his eyes closed, forcing his body to relax when instinct is telling him to get to his feet and fight. When they open the cage and toss in someone else, Stiles continues his forced inertia.

When strong hands reach and pull him into a lap, against a warm, male body, he still doesn't react, not until he hears their captors lock the door at the top of the stairs.

He wants to bury his face in the front of that shirt, not because it smells like Derek, but because it smells like his family, like Allison and Luna. He realizes some of his heightened senses are coming back online because his olfactory organ is in overdrive and he wants to claw at something.

Stiles wants to claw and scream and strike out. Derek has been near them. He's _touched_ them. He's fucking _scented_ them.

Derek's words, the first words he's heard the man speak in years, almost don't penetrate the fog of his mind.

"Stiles. Come on, wake up." Derek sounds concerned; he manages to sound like he actually cares, and Stiles wants to scream at him and punch him. And there's a crazy chunk of Stiles, one that he resolutely pushes down, that wants to embrace him. Stiles hates that chunk, almost as much as he hates what Derek did to him.

Why? Why is Derek here?! There's no reason Derek Hale should come help Stiles, especially if the Alpha has already gotten his hands on Allison and Luna.

He's more pissed at the smell on Derek than he is at Gerard Argent right now, and that's -- well, that's a lot pissed.

"You _idiot_. You idiot asshole! Why the fuck do you smell like my family?" he finally spits out, body rigid, not from pain but from fury.

The anger is good, Stiles thinks. He can feel it coursing through his blood and it's better than any rush of pain-fueled adrenaline.

He feels Derek flinch, and then he smells an odd combination of relief and concern wafting from the other werewolf. "Oh god, Stiles. You're awake. And well enough to be angry."

Stiles growls at him. "Why. Do. You. Smell. Like. My. Family."

Derek blinks. "They're okay! Don't worry. I've protected them."

That earns Derek another growl, more threatening if possible.

"Listen. I will explain everything once we get out of here. Do you know who is behind this?" Derek asks.

Stiles, as if only just realizing he's still practically in Derek's lap, wrenches away from him. "If you've hurt them, in any way, I will fucking kill you."

Derek looks at him, stunned, and Stiles isn't sure if it's because Derek realizes he means it, or if he's only just realizing Stiles is capable of it.

Stiles curls his lips up. He's unable to drop his fangs just yet, but the movement is telling enough. "Right. I can do it now. I could take you."

Derek nods, just once, a sharp jerk of his head. "I would let you," he whispers, the words so vulnerable, so raw that now it's Stiles turn to blink in bewilderment.

Stiles doesn't understand. "Who are you?" he asks in wonder.

"A better man," Derek responds. "Better werewolf, I mean."

Stiles snorts at that, his temporary daze already over. He rubs a finger over his teeth, huffing in frustration because they're still blunt. He's about to speak when Derek cries out.

Stiles looks sharply at the stairs, but the two of them are still alone. His hearing improving along with his sense of smell, Stiles can tell no one is near the door. It sounds like they're sitting and talking in the kitchen.

"Your feet! What did they do?!" And this time, Derek sounds infuriated. Even without any of his supernatural powers, it's practically a roar.

"Would you shut up! We don't want them back down here yet! Not until I can claw," Stiles hisses.

Derek is reaching for an ankle, but Stiles jerks his feet away from him. In fact, he turns around, back to Derek. Right now, the men up those stairs are the bigger threat. Besides, if Derek has already taken his family, there's not much worse the Alpha can do to him. "Break my thumbs so I can get these off," he hisses over his shoulder.

"What?! No!" Derek reacts. "You're hurt bad enough already."

"And I'm going to be hurt a lot worse when Gerard Argent comes down those steps if I can't use my hands," Stiles shoots back. This is seriously a paradox to Stiles. Derek is acting like he cares. _Cares_. And while Stiles doesn't think Derek actually wants him dead, his behavior seems downright protective. Stiles wishes he had time to study the ambiguity of the situation, but he doesn't have that leisure. "Look. He says he's already set fire to wherever you live now. He's not letting either of us leave here alive."

Derek shakes his head. "Gerard," he whistles softly. And then -- "He tried to set the fire. Peter took out the Hunters before they even got close. I should have known it was --"

Stiles punches him. Hard. Before Derek can even finish his sentence, much less absorb that Stiles just belted him across the cheek, Stiles is punching him again with an uppercut to the jaw.

"What the fuck?!" Derek spits blood out the side of his mouth. 

"Remember the jail? The claws in your leg? It speeds of the process of burning off their pharmaceutical," Stiles explains, the cuffs now circling one wrist like the largest charm bracelet known to man.

Stiles pops his thumb back into joint under Derek's incredulous stare. This time, when Stiles lifts his hand to strike, this time to belt Derek across the face with the swinging steel cuff, Derek reaches to block it.

"Get with the program, Derek. You either work with me, or I swear I'll kill you right now," Stiles heaves at him. 

"Why do you think I got in the van? I'm here to save you," Derek responds.

Stiles blinks at him yet again. "Wait. You voluntarily got into their van? Are you fucking kidding me? Did they offer you special alpha candy or something?" He tries to stand, but that triggers the nerves near his foot that do still work and the pain is unbearable. He falls to his ass with a muffled cry. "You. Save me. Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Are any of your senses even working yet?" This is mostly muttered; he doesn't expect an answer.

"Stiles. You have to heal your feet," Derek whispers, reaching for his ankles again. Stiles slaps his hands away.

"Right. Why didn't I think of that?" Stiles snaps back. "Idiot. Scent and hearing come back first. Then fangs and claws. Then strength. Healing is last."

"Punch me again," Derek states clearly. 

"With pleasure," Stiles smirks, and nails him right in the stomach.

And if there is a certain poetic justice in the situation, Stiles getting to vent his anger and Derek for taking the hits that he thinks he deserves, well, neither of them mention it.

**** 

It's really ridiculously simple after that. Beating on Derek only speeds up Stiles' already returning abilities. When they hear movement at the door, Stiles lays back down, hands behind his back and Derek sits next to him. They're both breathing heavy from exertion, especially Derek who hasn't fully recovered.

Gerard flips on the light, motioning one of his men to stand at the cage with a cattle prod in hand. "You, move back," he orders Derek.

Derek resolutely shakes his head, so the hunter shocks him with a dose of high voltage. While he's jerking away from the pain, the other hunter opens the cage dragging Stiles out. Stiles cries out as his feet scrape across the floor; he's so close to healing he can almost taste it, but that doesn't matter. He doesn't need to heal to do what's necessary. The hunter shoves him at Gerard, who is unsheathing a sword.

Everything moves so fast after that, even Stiles isn't sure the exact order of things. He's ripping Gerard's throat open with fully extended claws while Derek takes down the hunter with the cattle prod. Derek pounces on their final captor, when Stiles' feet prevent him from closing the distance, which leaves them both free. Surrounded by bodies, but free.

It's almost anti-climactic, and they simply stare at each other a long moment. Stiles notes there's something akin to pride in Derek's eyes, and if part of him feels an answering warmth at that gaze, Stiles isn't going to admit it. Even to himself.

He's hobbling toward the steps when Derek sweeps him off his wounded feet, literally. Stiles protests all the way up the stairs and out of the house. The house is out in the middle of the desert, but there's a van with a full tank of gas waiting for them. The keys? On a hook by the door.

Neither speak as Derek drives them back toward Las Vegas. It's almost as if Stiles being silent is as unnerving to Derek as the fact they just worked together (quite well, in fact) is to Stiles. They pass a sign they have 36 miles in front of them, when Stiles sighs.

"Did you take my family?" he finally asks, staring out the passenger side window. His body is beginning to heal, but the glass feels cool against his cheek and it's soothing.

"Your family is waiting for you," Derek answers, voice quiet. "There was an accident."

Stiles sits up ramrod straight. "What kind of accident?"

"Car accident. Some drunk ran a red light. Slammed into your SUV," Derek states. "They're both okay."

Stiles is visibly shaking. "Pull over."

Derek doesn't ask questions, simply pulls to the side of the road and stops. Stiles opens his door, his stomach emptying almost before his feet touch the ground. When he climbs back into the vehicle, Derek offers him a bottle of water. 

"It was in here, but it's not been opened."

Stiles declines with a shake of his head. "I didn't feel it. I should have felt it," he whispers. His family had been in a car accident and he'd had no idea.

"They drugged you. Or you would have. I can tell; your pack bonds are tight."

"Why?" Stiles asks, staring straight ahead. The sun on the road makes the air look like a hazy, wavy blur. His simple one-word question could cover a multitude of sins.

Derek runs a hand over his face. Through his hair. Behind his neck. "I've been looking for you since you left Beacon Hills."

"Why?" Stiles repeats mutinously. _Why? Why? Why?_

"I know words can't make up for -- I don't expect -- I screwed up, kicking you out of the pack," Derek finally manages.

Stiles closes his eyes, exhales slowly and then opens them again. "Because you want Luna."

"Because I want to protect Luna. Because I want to protect Allison. Because I want to protect _you_ ," Derek's voice is plaintive, as if begging Stiles to believe him.

"I can protect myself," Stiles' tone is stiff. Words are cheap. "And my family."

"I know," comes Derek's fervent response. "I have no doubt you would have escaped without me back there."

"Damn skippy." But Stiles' heart is aching. His family had needed him and he hadn't been there. 

"You need to know, Allison was hurt. They did surgery and she came through, but she asked," Derek pauses. He sounds like a man who feels as if he's just made the most tentative truce with Stiles and is about to shred it. And it's breaking Derek's heart. Stiles ignores it, which comes easy at his next statement. "She asked for the bite."

Stiles' face spins toward Derek, his eyebrows disappearing under his mussed hair hanging over his forehead. "She what?"

"She was facing a long road of rehab. She asked for the bite. She should be out of ICU, waiting at the hotel for us by now," Derek answers carefully.

Stiles feels tears well up in his eyes, before swallowing them down. His eyes divert away from Derek's face. "So I guess you've gotten exactly what you wanted. Your pack has a pup." If his tone had been stiff before, it is all but dead now.

Derek is already protesting. "No, Stiles. No. I told her I wouldn't force her to join my pack. She's not coming back to Beacon Hills unless you do."

Stiles' laugh is bitter. He slams his door closed. If he still had contents in his stomach, he'd probably throw up again, but it's blessedly empty. Kind of like his heart just then. "Just drive, Derek. Just fucking drive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I owe a more complete explanation for the lack of updates. In early June, I received a call that my elderly mom had just been admitted to the hospital. What followed was a very long drive to my hometown where I remained for at least half the summer, taking care of her.
> 
> Once I got home, I expected to sit down and start writing again, but being gone for so long, I had other responsibilities that I had to take care of first. And then school started, and yeah, my kids have been going non-stop since. 
> 
> Again, I'm truly sorry for making my readers wait so long, and for not even replying to comments on the last chapter yet. I can't tell you how much those comments mean to me, and I will be replying asap! 
> 
> Also, I want to reassure that this fanfic will be finished. That's never been in question. I'm committed. ^^
> 
> I also want to take a moment to thank those that have sent me messages on my tumblr (greenstargaze), encouraging me to update and wanting more. So many hugs for ariesprincessslyffindor, leothestoryofmylife, lyssisspooky and rayshippouuchiha specifically. And for the anonymous asks too!
> 
> I've changed the chapter length on this to ? because of the recent season. I'm making a few changes, based on some of the new Teen Wolf mythology, which is going to lengthen the story slightly. It's nothing major, and the ending won't change at all, but I feel good about the alterations coming up. I hope you enjoy them too.
> 
> Thank you for not giving up on me and thank you for reading!


	11. {the heat of a torch}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can the Hale pack persuade Stiles and Allison to return to Beacon Hills with their daughter? Peter probably doesn't help the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Imbolc (a03), awildgrantaireappeard (tumblr), lossofsurroundings (tumblr) and elvira17 (tumblr) for making this chapter the best it could be. They're awesome people even above and beyond their exceptional beta-reading skills! 
> 
> Any remaining errors are mine because I can't resist fiddling before I post here.
> 
> [IMPORTANT NOTE: This fanfic is NOT abandoned. My brother passed away, and I have been grieving, and writer's block as a result. My husband and I are now solely responsible for my mother's care. But I'm getting my writing mojo back, and have always intended to finish this story. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience. - April 2015]
> 
> UPDATE: September 2016 - This fanfic is still not abandoned. It WILL be completed!

Chapter 11  
\- Peter -  
the heat of a torch

 

Peter leans against the wall, a coffee in his hands. His eyes are on Chris as he puts powdered cream into his own paper cup. They're in the waiting room while Danny takes a turn sitting at Allison's bedside. Both Allison and Luna sleep, and they're all in a holding pattern while they wait. The bite should take effect soon, and then they'll leave. Until then, Peter stares at Chris.

"What?" Chris finally snaps. "You've been looking at me as if I've sprouted fangs ever since the wreck. Just spit it out, Peter."

Peter harrumphs at him, unfolding his lean body from the wall to step closer. "Forgive me for trying to reconcile your recent behavior with the past. The Chris I knew would never -- "

Chris holds up a hand, to stop Peter from winding up. "If you'd let go of the past for five minutes, you might realize neither of us are the same people we were then. Did you honestly think I'd prefer Allison dead?"

"Frankly, yes. After all, your wife would have, and did. As would your father," Peter drawls in reply.

"I'm not my father," Chris replies through gritted teeth. He glances around quickly, making sure they're alone. "I have made mistakes. Is that what you want to hear? I was a coward when I left you, but give me a break. I was a teenager, convinced that we were doomed anyway. Not to mention I had the very real fear that if Gerard found out, he would kill you."

Peter is surprised at Chris' honesty. "He just killed my entire family instead. Because you think we're monsters."

Chris closes his eyes, gripping the coffee too tightly causing it to spill over his hands. He grabs some napkins to wipe them, putting the coffee down. "I know," he finally whispers. "God, I know, and it kills me to know it." He forces himself to look Peter in the eye. "I had nothing to do with that. I had no idea. But Peter -- do you honestly think I would have been with you way back when, if I thought you were a monster?"

It hurts Peter, to see such naked emotion on Chris' face, such pain in his eyes. Part of him hates that part of his heart has remained with Chris Argent. He'd thought that the fire burned every emotion but revenge out of him, but apparently not. He inhales sharply when Chris reaches to take his hand in a loose hold, squeezing his fingers lightly.

"I knew what you were from the moment we met at basketball practice. The Argents make it their business to know families and packs, and I was raised to be a soldier. Maybe part of the attraction at first was knowing you were dangerous. Like forbidden fruit. But we knew each other, Peter. We grew close, and I knew you. And I knew you weren't bad just because you were born different," Chris tells him.

Peter stiffens, pulling his hand from Chris' fingers before he starts feeling too much. This is a bit too much honesty for the werewolf.

Chris just looks tired. "I need to get back to my daughter."

Peter can only nod. He's wanted a sexual relationship with Chris again - that he can easily admit, but he's increasingly worried he can't have that without putting his heart on the line as well.

He remains in the waiting room, where Danny quietly joins him shortly thereafter. They discuss their plan to get Allison out of the hospital, and wonder where Derek's search for Stiles has taken him. They haven't heard from him since Derek had left the hospital, and it's night now. And then the two fall silent, lost in their own thoughts.

********

Their plan to leave the hospital is ridiculously simple. As soon as Allison has healed enough to walk, Peter will distract the nurses in ICU while Chris slips out with the Allison and Luna. Danny will hack into the hospital computer system to remove all evidence of her admission from the records. If necessary, Peter will tip over a few vending machines on a couple of floors to keep security busy. The latter doesn't even prove necessary.

Danny drives them back to the casino, while Peter calls the front desk to upgrade their rooms to a penthouse suite with two bedrooms. Once they're ensconced in their new room, Chris sits in one of the bedrooms with his daughter, getting to know her all over again. 

Peter chooses to sit in the luxurious living room and eavesdrop. Oh, he supposes he could give them privacy, but he's not that good a person. He enjoys hearing Chris in discussion with Allison. Danny sits nearby, tapping away on his laptop. 

"Can you trace Derek's cell?" he finally asks, antsy with nothing to do but wait.

Danny shakes his head. "Tried. Do you think he's found Stiles?"

"That or he's died trying," Peter answers dryly. He nods his head sideways, in the direction of Allison's bedroom. "According to Miss Argent, Stiles won't be happy to see Derek."

"Well, that's not news," Danny snorts.

"Hmm," Peter murmurs, keeping any further thoughts to himself.

"You know I can hear you talking about me," Allison says from the next room. She doesn't even raise her voice.

"Of course you can," Peter smirks. He doesn't raise his voice either. "Now why don't you reassure your father that you'll be returning to Beacon Hills so he can let out that breath he's been holding ever since Derek bit you?"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Allison retorts.

Peter just laughs, at least until Chris appears in the doorway. "Must you do that?"

"I really must. It's difficult to turn off the talents I was born with simply because you're a human. Danny here doesn't mind," Peter replies with a self-satisfied smile.

Danny gives Chris an apologetic shrug. "I'm just used to it. Guess it helps, knowing I'll have super ears one day too."

Chris just sighs. He looks like he's about to say more, but Peter jumps up, moving quickly toward the door. "Derek's in the building. And if my ears are correct, he has Stiles with him." He heads out the door, to the elevators. They'll need a special key to access the suite.

When Peter glances behind him, he sees that Allison has left the bedroom, Luna holding her hand, and they stand waiting. Chris comes up beside her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Danny merely looks on expectantly. "Be right back," Peter smiles, disappearing into the hallway.

He finds Derek on their old floor with a grumpy, barefoot Stiles at his side. Peter's smile broadens. "You found the prodigal son!"

Stiles, if possible, looks even more displeased. "Where's my family?"

Peter can appreciate that kind of bluntness. But he so enjoys teasing. "Oh, you mean our new pack members?"

"Stop it, Peter. They're only pack if they want to be."

Stiles looks livid. "You fucking liar! I knew it!"

Derek looks like he wants to murder Peter. Again. "Why? Why do you have to act like a child?!" he accuses his uncle. "I promised Stiles that none of them have to return to Beacon Hills unless they want to."

Peter just shrugs, but he doesn't look sorry at all. "We've changed rooms. To one of the larger suites upstairs. Follow me." He waves his new room card at them. 

Stiles is already following, entering the elevator with a mutinous glance at them both. Peter is amused, and Derek just looks emotionally wrung out. "Derek told me you were in adjoining rooms. Guess you had to move us so there would only be one exit?" he accuses.

"Ah, Stiles. You were always the smart one. I always knew you'd make a wonderful werewolf," Peter grins, showing teeth, but not fang. He glances to Derek to see his jaw tick. "But look, Derek's all upset for your sake. He doesn't want you upset."

Stiles snorts, but says nothing.

"It's truly a pleasure to see you again, Stiles. Care to fill me in on where you've been while your wife was getting hit by a car and then bitten by an alpha?" Peter asks, still poking Stiles with a figurative sharp stick.

Stiles growls this time, the sound a clear threat in the small space of the elevator. It's a good thing they're riding it alone, the three of them.

"You heard Allison. They're not married," Derek interjects.

Stiles' eyes narrow at him. "That's your only issue with Peter's statement? Honestly?!"

"Yeah, well, Peter's an ass. Some things never change," Derek replies, trying to remain patient and calm.

Stiles clearly isn't impressed, and Peter is just thoroughly amused by the entire interaction. "Why, thank you, Derek. You're too kind."

Stiles stares hard, first at Derek and then at Peter. "Is she okay?" he finally asks.

"She's doing great," Peter finally replies without sarcasm or bite. "We got her out of the hospital as soon as the bite took effect. She's healed. She's been worried about you. They're all waiting for us." 

"Who is all?" Stiles asks, as if gauging his chance of escape with Allison and Luna.

"Danny and Chris. Allison has had quite the reunion with her father," Peter answers helpfully.

Derek closes his eyes. Before anyone else speaks again, the elevator doors open and Stiles is rushing down the hall in the direction of his family's scent. Peter and Derek follow, reaching the suite in time to see Stiles pull Allison and Luna close. Stiles has no interest in anyone else in the room, as if he's written all of them off so long ago, they aren't even a blip on his radar. Instead, Stiles' concern and laser focus is for Allison and Luna only.

"Daddy!" Luna exclaims, joy in her voice. Stiles sweeps her up into his arms, looking her over, reassuring himself that she is well and safe before giving her kisses and hugs.

"I promise, we're okay. Thanks to Derek," Allison reassures him, giving him a warm hug.

Peter catches Chris' eye during the reunion, and wonders what he thinks of the trio. If it wasn't clear before, it is now - they are very much a family and pack. The question is, can and will they assimilate into the Hale pack?

He glances at Derek, who looks nothing short of pained. They may be family, but they don't make a habit of offering each other tactile comfort. They each rely on the other pack members for that, but Peter is moved to put an arm across Derek's shoulders. He's only mildly surprised when Derek accepts the gesture, and leans against him briefly. 

Peter doesn't need to hear Derek's thoughts. He knows it's killing his nephew to see Stiles with his daughter, pack bonded with Allison, bitten by another Alpha - and hating everything the Hale pack stands for. He only hopes that Derek can mend the damage.

********

They give the trio time alone in one of the bedrooms. Not that Peter can't hear everything being said, but Allison looks grateful for the show of privacy at least. Allison, it would seem, is of the mind that they should return to Beacon Hills, at least briefly. She wants Luna to know Chris, and she thinks Stiles should see his father. She tells him that they can stay long enough to make some decisions about their future. Stiles doesn't sound happy about the idea at all, but willing to do what Allison thinks is best. He keeps asking if Derek forced her, and she continues denying it. She states that it was unequivocally her choice when faced with years of physical therapy. She reassures him, repeatedly, that Derek said he wouldn't force her to join the pack. Stiles continues to be doubtful.

Meanwhile, Chris, Derek and Danny have been discussing what transpired out in the desert. It's not until he hears the name, Gerard, that Peter begins paying close attention. "Are you serious!? Gerard is still alive?"

Derek glances sharply at Chris. "Not anymore. We killed him. For good this time." He lifts his chin though, as if he refuses to be sorry. "It was him or us."

Danny arches an eyebrow, but otherwise remains silent. It's one of many things Peter likes about the young man. He knows when to keep his mouth shut and listen. 

Chris swallows hard, and Peter watches his Adam's apple bob with the emotion he's swallowing back. "You don't have to fear reprisal from me. I might have killed him myself if given the chance," he admits to Derek, casting a glance at Peter.

Peter catches himself staring back before jerking his attention back to Derek. "Did he even realize Allison was here in Vegas?"

"I don't think so. They'd spotted Stiles and thought they could use him as bait for me," Derek answers.

"Well, it worked didn't it?" Peter muses. 

"They dosed us both with something that dulled our werewolf powers," Derek goes on, ignoring the jab. "Do you know anything about that?" he asks of Chris.

"I know he talked about experimenting with different chemicals to achieve something like that, but I didn't know he'd ever actually done it. Much less found a concoction that worked," Chris answers honestly.

"Well, Stiles figured out how to get it out of our systems faster by speeding up our metabolism with adrenaline. But - they hurt him bad before they brought me in. His feet were burned so badly, I worried he wouldn't be able to heal even after it wore off," Derek admits.

Peter arches a brow. "That's why he was barefoot," he states the obvious. "But clearly he healed, and you're both free now."

Derek just shrugs. "There's a house out in the desert full of dead hunters," he changes the subject.

"Right. Do you think you can give us directions? Danny and I will go clean up," Peter stands.

"I should go instead of Danny," Chris stands too, putting a hand on Danny's shoulder to keep him seated.

Peter levels his gaze at the hunter. "This is your dad's corpse we're talking about. And hunters you might have known and called friend."

"My friends are in this room." Chris looks resolute. "I _will_ go with you."

Peter starts to argue, but he knows Chris when he gets stubborn like this. "Whatever. We'll be back soon," he replies to Derek. "I just need to know where we're going."

Derek nods, but he's staring at the closed door that separates him from Stiles. Peter touches his shoulder again, light and brief, just enough to get his attention. "Give him time. Give yourself time too."

********

The ride out into the desert is silent. Peter is caught up thinking about Chris' accusation that he's unwilling to let go of the past. In an attempt at empathy Peter tries to put himself in Chris’ shoes. Gerard’s body is waiting for them; it must be a tough moment for Chris. Peter rolls his shoulders, cringing slightly to himself, ridding himself of the pitiful endeavor. Chris must be mulling it all over because Gerard is unquestionably dead this time.

It's not until he sees the lone house in the distance, the flat expanse of the desert making it a stark sentinel on the sand, that he finally speaks. "Why didn't you just let Danny help me? You're going to have to grieve him all over again."

Chris sighs. "Closure," he answers simply. "We had a funeral, even though we didn't have a body. And I mourned him, not knowing what he did to the Hales. To you." There's so much emotion in Chris' voice, that it makes Peter uncomfortable. "I want to bury him this time knowing the truth. And I feel responsible that he keeps going after your family."

Peter shakes his head, the distance between them and the house diminishing rapidly. "You had no control over his actions. You can only control your own." 

"You're right. And I made a mistake, when I left you. I was letting him control me. Who knows what might have happened if I'd stood up to him," Chris answers.

"That's crazy talk," Peter informs him. "And trust me, I know crazy. You _shouldn't_ have dumped me, or at least explained what you were thinking at the time, but if you'd stood up to him? He might have killed you." He clears his throat, because the next part is difficult to say aloud. "I wouldn't have wanted you dead."

They've reached the house, and Peter stops the vehicle, putting it in park. 

"You still care about me," Chris whispers, as if daring Peter to deny it.

"Didn't you hear? I'm not capable of caring about anyone but myself," Peter retorts. He refuses to look at Chris, instead opening his door and getting out.

"Liar," Chris accuses, getting out too, and coming around to the driver's side. "Just because I was a coward when we were teens doesn't mean you should be a coward now. Look at me!" 

Peter wants to step around Chris. He doesn't want to have this conversation. Because now that he knows Chris doesn't think he's less than human? It's too real. All of it. It's too painful. It's too close. There's too much chance of having everything he used to want, only to be disappointed again.

Chris reaches for him, hands going to his upper arms. Peter tries to remain stiff, but can feel his traitorous body relaxing, wanting to press closer even. "Look at me," Chris whispers again.

Peter does. "Can't you just offer fucking? It would be so much easier," he suggest dryly. But there's a tremor stealing over him that goes way beyond mere lust.

"Even if I agreed, we both know there would be more to it," Chris answers softly, gently tugging Peter into an embrace. "Let me back in, Peter."

Peter wants to deny him, but that would be denying himself. And Peter is all about self-interest. "You're a bad bet," he rasps, even as his head relaxes against Chris' shoulder. He tilts his head, letting his lips trail along the cord of Chris' neck.

Chris snorts softly, amused. "I'm a sure thing and you know it." His finger goes to Peter's chin, before he slowly leans in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. 

Peter doesn't want gentle. He wants to feel the passion he knows they both feel, the heat of a torch that's been carried for years. He opens his mouth to Chris, fingers sliding up his chest, and they both lose themselves. Breathless, they find themselves leaning against the vehicle, making out like teenagers. 

"Call me morbid, but there's a certain poetic justice that we're doing this a few feet from your father's body," Peter drawls.

Chris half-laughs, half-chokes. "God, Peter, really?" 

Peter just gives him a wicked grin. And kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Allison's pov. Expect emotional reunions - some bad and some good.
> 
> A gigantic thank you to _you_ , readers. For not only being patient with me slowly posting this WIP, but also for continuing to read, for leaving me wonderful comments and for kudos. I continue to be overwhelmed and touched and grateful and and and! Before all is said and done, I will reply to every single comment!
> 
> I admit, I feel so guilty between chapters when offline obligations keep me from writing. I have several other fanfics already plotted out, but in the future, I won't start posting until I'm nearly finished with the entire work. And I give my word, this one will be completed. We're nearing the end zone!
> 
> Seriously, I feel so lucky that people take the time to read - and let me know what they think. Hugs for you all! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I know readers worry about WIPs (because I'm one of them), but I would never have posted this first chapter if I wasn't committed to finishing the work. 
> 
> Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes will be absent in this fic. Blame the Alpha Pack.
> 
>  _Even When You're Gone_ should be mostly canon compliant through the end of season 2, but excluding any spoilers regarding season 3. In other words, none of the new characters will be included. The timeline might be adjusted slightly as well, so consider it sorta of AU but mostly not. I'm so specific.
> 
> Fanfic title from the song _Overwhelmed_ by Tim McMorris.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you'll comment, or at least come back for more. ^^


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